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No. _..  1611  CHESTNUT  STREET,  PHILADELPHIA 

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DUKE  UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


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http://www.archive.org/details/romanceislandOOgale 


ROMANCE  ISLAND 


By 
ZONA  GALE 


WITH    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY 

HERMANN  C.  WALL 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright  igo6 
The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 

October 


Red 

C\S2K 


'  Who  that  remembers  the  first  kind  glance  of  her 
whom  he  loves  can  fail  to  believe  in  magic?" 

— NOVALIS 


5G1C21 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

fagb 

I 

Dinner  Time 

X 

II 

A  Scrap  of  Paper 

20 

III 

St.  George  and  the  Lady 

38 

IV 

The  Prince  of  Far-Away 

•        59 

V 

Olivia  Proposes 

.        78 

VI 

Two  Little  Men  . 

.        96 

VII 

Dusk,  and  So  On    . 

•      "7 

VIII 

The  Porch  of  the  Morning 

.      130 

IX 

The  Lady  of  Kingdoms 

153 

X 

Tyrian  Purple      . 

182 

XI 

The  End  of  the  Evening 

203 

XII 

Between-Worlds 

229 

XIII 

The  Lines  Lead  Up 

.      241 

XIV 

The  Isle  of  Hearts 

257 

XV 

A  Vigil 

280 

XVI 

Glamourie 

294 

XVII 

Beneath  the  Surface    . 

309 

XVIII 

A  Morning  Visit  . 

.      328 

XIX 

In  the  Hall  of  Kings    . 

340 

XX 

Out  of  the  Hall  of  Kings 

360 

XXI 

Open  Secrets 

38x 

5Cil321 


ROMANCE    ISLAND 


ROMANCE  ISLAND 


CHAPTER  I 

DINNER  TIME 

As  The  Aloha  rode  gently  to  her  buoy  among  the 
crafts  in  the  harbour,  St.  George  longed  to  pro- 
claim in  the  megaphone's  monstrous  parody  upon 
capital  letters : 

"  Cat-boats  and  house-boats  and  yawls,  look 
here.  You're  bound  to  observe  that  this  is  my 
steam  yacht.  I  own  her — do  you  see?  She 
belongs  to  me,  St.  George,  who  never  before  owned 
so  much  as  a  piece  of  rope." 

Instead — mindful,  perhaps,  that  "  a  man  should 
not  communicate  his  own  glorie  " — he  stepped 
sedately  down  to  the  trim  green  skiff  and  was 
rowed  ashore  by  a  boy  who,  for  aught  that  either 
knew,  might  three  months  before  have  jostled  him 
at  some  ill-favoured  lunch  counter.  For  in  Amer- 
ica, dreams  of  gold — not,  alas,  golden  dreams — 

I 


2  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

do  prevalently  come  true;  and  of  all  the  butter- 
fly happenings  in  this  pleasant  land  of  larvae, 
few  are  so  spectacular  as  the  process  by  which, 
without  warning,  a  man  is  converted  from  a 
toiler  and  bearer  of  loads  to  a  taker  of  his  bien. 
However,  to  none,  one  must  believe,  is  the  change- 
ling such  gazing-stock  as  to  himself. 

Although  countless  times,  waking  and  sleeping, 
St.  George  had  humoured  himself  in  the  outworn 
pastime  of  dreaming  what  he  would  do  if  he  were 
to  inherit  a  million  dollars,  his  imagination  had 
never  marveled  its  way  to  the  situation's  less 
poignant  advantages.  Chief  among  his  satisfac- 
tions had  been  that  with  which  he  had  lately 
seen  his  mother — an  exquisite  woman,  looking 
like  the  old  lace  and  Roman  mosaic  pins  which 
she  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  her  fortune — set 
off  for  Europe  in  the  exceptional  company  of  her 
brother,  Bishop  Arthur  Touchett,  gentlest  of  dig- 
nitaries. The  bishop,  only  to  look  upon  whose 
portrait  was  a  benediction,  had  at  sacrifice  of 
certain  of  his  charities  seen  St.  George  through 
college;  and  it  made  the  million  worth  while  to 
his  nephew  merely  to  send  him  to  Tubingen  to  set 
his  soul  at  rest  concerning  the  date  of  one  of  the 
canonical  gospels.  Next  to  the  rich  delight  of 
planning  that  voyage,  St.  George  placed  the 
buying  of  his  yacht. 

In  the  dusty,  inky  office  of  the  New  York 
Evening  Sentinel  he  had  been  wont  three  months 


DINNER  TIME  0 

before  to  sit  at  a  long  green  table  fitting  words 
about  the  yachts  of  others  to  the  dreary  music 
of  his  typewriter,  the  while  vaguely  conscious  of 
a  blur  of  eight  telephone  bells,  and  the  sound  of 
voices  used  merely  to  communicate  thought  and 
not  to  please  the  ear.  In  the  last  three  months 
he  had  sometimes  remembered  that  black  day 
when  from  his  high  window  he  had  looked  toward 
the  harbour  and  glimpsed  a  trim  craft  of  white  and 
brass  slipping  to  the  river's  mouth;  whereupon  he 
had  been  seized  by  such  a  passion  to  work  hard 
and  earn  a  white-and-brass  craft  of  his  own 
that  the  story  which  he  was  hurrying  for  the  first 
edition  was  quite  ruined. 

"  Good  heavens,  St.  George,"  Chillingworth,  the 
city  editor,  had  gnarled,  "  we  don't  carry  wooden 
type.  And  nothing  else  would  set  up  this  wooden 
stuff  of  yours.  Where's  some  snap?  Your  first 
paragraph  reads  like  a  recipe.  Now  put  your 
soul  into  it,  and  you've  got  less  than  fifteen  min- 
utes to  do  it  in." 

St.  George  recalled  that  his  friend  Amory,  as 
*'  one  hackneyed  in  the  ways  of  life,"  had  gravely 
lifted  an  eyebrow  at  him,  and  the  new  men  had 
turned  different  colours  at  the  thought  of  being 
addressed  like  that  before  the  staff ;  and  St.  George 
had  recast  the  story  and  had  received  for  his 
diligence  a  New  Jersey  assignment  which  had 
kept  him  until  midnight.  Haunting  the  homes 
of  the  club-women  and  the  common  council  of 


4  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

that  little  Jersey  town,  the  trim  white-and-brass 
craft  slipping  down  to  the  river's  mouth  had  not 
ceased  to  lure  him.  He  had  found  himself  esti- 
mating the  value — ^in  money — of  the  bric-k-brac 
of  every  house,  and  the  self-importance  of  every 
alderman,  and  reflecting  that  these  people,  if  they 
liked,  might  own  yachts  of  white  and  brass;  yet 
they  preferred  to  crouch  among  the  bric-k-brac 
and  to  discourse  to  him  of  one  another's  viola- 
tions and  interferences.  By  the  time  that  he 
had  reached  home  that  dripping  night  and  had 
put  captions  upon  the  backs  of  the  unexpectant- 
looking  photographs  which  were  his  trophies,  he 
was  in  that  state  of  comparative  anarchy  to  be 
effected  only  by  imaginative  youth  and  a  dis- 
agreeable task. 

Next  day,  suddenly  as  its  sun,  had  come  the 
news  which  had  transformed  him  from  a  discon- 
tented grappler  with  social  problems  to  the  owner 
of  stocks  and  bonds  and  shares  in  a  busy  mine  and 
other  things  soothing  to  enumerate.  The  first 
thing  which  he  had  added  unto  these,  after  the 
departure  of  his  mother  and  the  bishop,  had  been 
The  Aloha,  which  only  that  day  had  slipped  to  the 
river's  mouth  in  the  view  from  his  old  window  at 
the  Sentinel  office.  St.  George  had  the  grace  to 
be  ashamed  to  remember  how  smoothly  the  social 
ills  had  adjusted  themselves. 

Now  they  were  past,  those  days  of  feverish 
work  and  unexpected  triumph  and  unaccountable 


DINNER  TIME?  5" 

failure;  and  in  the  dreariest  of  them  St.  George, 
dreaming  wildly,  had  not  dreamed  all  the  tlnob- 
vious  joys  which  his  fortune  had  brought  to  him. 
For  although  he  had  accurately  painted,  for 
example,  the  delight  of  a  cruise  in  a  sea-going 
yacht  of  his  own,  yet  to  step  into  his  dory  in 
the  sunset,  to  watch  The  Aloha's  sides  shine  in 
the  late  light  as  he  was  rowed  ashore  past  the 
lesser  crafts  in  the  harbour;  to  see  the  man  touch 
his  cap  and  put  back  to  make  the  yacht  trim  for 
the  night,  and  then  to  turn  his  own  face  to  his 
apartment  where  virtually  the  entire  day-staff 
of  the  Evening  Sentinel  was  that  night  to  dine — 
these  were  among  the  pastimes  of  the  lesser 
angels  which  his  fancy  had  never  compassed. 

A  glow  of  firelight  greeted  St,  George  as  he 
entered  his  apartment,  and  the  rooms  wore  a 
pleasant  air  of  festivity.  A  table,  with  covers  for 
twelve,  was  spread  in  the  living-room,  a  fire  of 
cones  was  tossing  on  the  hearth,  the  curtains  were 
drawn,  and  the  sideboard  was  a  thing  of  intima- 
tion. RoUo,  his  man — St.  George  had  easily  fallen 
in  all  the  habits  which  he  had  longed  to  assume — 
was  just  closing  the  little  ice-box  sunk  behind  a 
panel  of  the  wall,  and  he  came  forward  with 
dignified  deference. 

"  Everything  is  ready,  RoUo?  "  St.  George 
asked.     "  No  one  has  telephoned  to  beg  off?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  answered  Rollo,  "  and  no,  sir." 

St.  George  had  sometimes  told  himself  that  the 


6  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

man  looked  like  an  oval  grey  stone  with  a  face 
cut  upon  it. 

"  Is  the  claret  warmed?  "  St.  George  demanded, 
handing  his  hat.  "  Did  the  big  glasses  come  for 
the  liqueur — and  the  little  ones  will  set  inside  with- 
out tipping?  Then  take  the  cigars  to  the  den — 
you'll  have  to  get  some  cigarettes  for  Mr.  Provin. 
Keep  up  the  fire.  Light  the  candles  in  ten  min- 
utes.    I  say,  how  jolly  the  table  looks." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Rollo,  "an'  the  candles  '11 
make  a  great  difference,  sir.  Candles  do  give  out 
an  air,  sir." 

One  month  of  service  had  accustomed  St.  George 
to  his  valet's  gift  of  the  Articulate  Simplicity. 
Rollo 's  thoughts  were  doubtless  contrived  in  the 
cuticle  and  knew  no  deeper  operance;  but  he 
always  uttered  his  impressions  with,  under  his 
mask,  an  air  of  keen  and  seasoned  personal  obser- 
vation. In  his  first  interview  with  St.  George, 
Rollo  had  said:  "I  always  enjoy  being  kep'  busy, 
sir.  To  me,  the  busy  man  is  a  grand  sight," 
and  St.  George  had  at  once  appreciated  his 
possibilities.  Rollo  was  like  the  fine  print  in  an 
almanac. 

When  the  candles  were  burning  and  the  lights 
had  been  turned  on  in  the  little  ochre  den  where 
the  billiard-table  stood,  St.  George  emerged — a 
well-made  figure,  his  buoyant,  clear-cut  face  accu- 
rately bespeaking  both  health  and  cleverness. 
Of  a  family  represented  by  the  gentle  old  bishop 


DINNER  TIME  7 

and  his  own  exquisite  mother,  himself  university- 
bred  and  fresh  from  two  years'  hard,  hand-to- 
hand  fighting  to  earn  an  honourable  livelihood, 
St.  George,  of  soimd  body  and  fine  intelligence,  had 
that  temper  of  stability  within  vast  range  which 
goes  pleasantly  mto  the  mind  that  meets  it.  A 
symbol  of  this  was  his  prodigious  popularity 
with  those  who  had  been  his  fellow-workers — 
a  test  beside  which  old-world  traditions  of  the 
urban  touchstones  are  of  secondary  advantage. 
It  was  deeply  significant  that  in  spite  of  the  gulf 
which  Chance  had  digged  the  day-staff  of  the 
Sentinel,  all  save  two  or  three  of  which  were  not 
of  his  estate,  had  with  flattering  alacrity  obeyed 
his  summons  to  dine.  But,  as  he  heard  in  the 
hall  the  voice  of  Chillingworth,  the  difficulty  of 
his  task  for  the  first  time  swept  over  him.  It  was 
Chillingworth  who  had  advocated  to  him  the  need 
of  wooden  type  to  suit  his  literary  style  and  who 
had  long  ordered  and  bullied  him  about;  and 
how  was  he  to  play  the  host  to  Chillingworth, 
not  to  speak  of  the  others,  with  the  news  between 
them  of  that  million? 

When  the  bell  rang,  St.  George  somewhat 
gruffly  superseded  Rollo. 

"  I'll  go,"  he  said  briefly,  "  and  keep  out  of 
sight  for  a  few  minutes.  Get  in  the  bath-room 
or  somewhere,  will  you?  "  he  added  nerv^ously, 
and  opened  the  door. 

At  one  stroke   Chillingworth    settled    his  own 


8  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

position  by  dominating  the  situation  as  he  domi- 
nated the  city  room.  He  chose  the  best  chair 
and  told  a  good  story  and  found  fault  with  the 
way  the  fire  burned,  all  with  immediate  ease  and 
abandon.  Chillingworth's  men  loved  to  remem- 
ber that  he  had  once  carried  copy.  They  also 
understood  all  the  legitimate  devices  by  which  he 
persuaded  from  them  their  best  effort,  yet  these 
devices  never  failed,  and  the  city  room  agreed 
that  Chillingworth's  fashion  of  giving  an  assign- 
ment to  a  new  man  would  force  him  to  write  a 
readable  account  of  his  own  entertainment  in 
the  dark  meadows.  Largely  by  personal  magne- 
tism he  had  fought  his  way  upward,  and  this 
quality  was  not  less  a  social  gift. 

Mr.  Toby  Amory,  who  had  been  on  the  Eleven 
with  St.  George  at  Harvard,  looked  along  his 
pipe  at  his  host  and  smiled,  with  flattering  content, 
his  slow  smile.  Amory's  father  had  lately  had  a 
conspicuous  quarter  of  an  hour  in  Wall  Street,  as 
a  result  of  which  Amory,  instead  of  taking 
St.  George  to  the  cemetery  at  Clusium  as  he  had 
talked,  himself  drifted  to  Park  Row;  and  although 
he  now  knew  considerably  less  than  he  had  hoped 
about  certain  inscriptions,  he  was  supporting  him- 
self and  two  sisters  by  really  brilliant  work,  so 
that  the  balance  of  his  power  was  creditably 
maintained.  Surely  the  inscriptions  did  not  suf- 
fer, and  what  then  was  Amory  that  he  should 
object?     Presently  Holt,  the  middle-aged  marine 


DINNER  TIME  9 

man,  and  Harding  who,  since  he  had  lost  a  light- 
weight sparring  championship,  was  sporting 
editor,  solemnly  entered  together  and  sat  down 
with  the  social  caution  of  their  class.  So  did 
Provin,  the  "  elder  giant,"  who  gathered  news 
as  he  breathed  and  could  not  intelligibly  put 
six  words  together.  Horace,  who  would  listen  to 
four  lines  over  the  telephone  and  therefrom  make 
a  half-column  of  American  newspaper  humour  or 
American  newspaper  tears,  came  in  roaring  pacif- 
ically and  marshaling  little  Bud,  that  day  in 
the  seventh  heaven  of  his  first  "  beat."  Then 
followed  Crass,  the  feature  man,  whose  interviews 
were  known  to  the  new  men  as  literature,  although 
he  was  not  above  publicly  admitting  that  he  was 
not  a  reporter,  but  a  special  writer.  Mr.  Crass 
read  nothing  in  the  paper  that  he  had  not  written, 
and  St.  George  had  once  prophesied  that  in  old 
age  he  would  use  his  scrap-book  for  a  manual 
of  devotions,  as  Klopstock  used  his  Messiah. 
With  him  arrived  Carbury,  the  telegraph  editor, 
and  later  Benfy,  who  had  a  carpet  in  his  office  and 
wrote  editorials  and  who  came  in  evening  clothes, 
thus  moving  Harding  and  Holt  to  instant  private 
conversation.  The  last  to  appear  was  Little 
Cawthome  who  wrote  the  fiction  page  and  made 
enchanting  limericks  about  every  one  on  the  staff 
and  went  about  singing  one  song  and  behaving, 
the  dramatic  man  flattered  him,  like  a  motif. 
Little  Cawthome  entered  backward,  wrestling  with 


10  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

some  wiry  matter  which,  when  he  had  executed 
a  manoeuvre  and  banged  the  door,  was  thrust 
through  the  passage  in  the  form  of  Bennie  Todd, 
the  head  office  boy,  affectionately  known  as 
Bennietod.  Bennietod  was  in  every  one's  secret, 
clipped  every  one's  space  and  knew  every  one*s 
salary,  and  he  had  lately  covered  a  baseball 
game  when  the  man  whose  copy  he  was  to 
carry  had,  outside  the  fence,  become  implicated 
in  allurements.  He  was  greeted  with  noise,  and 
St.  George  told  him  heartily  that  he  was  glad 
he  had  come. 

"  He  made  me,"  defensively  claimed  Bennietod, 
frowning  deferentially  at  Little  Cawthorne. 

"  Hello,  St.  George,"  said  the  latter,  "  come  on 
back  to  the  office.  Crass  sits  in  your  place  and 
he  wears  cravats  the  colour  of  goblin's  blood. 
Come  back." 

"  Not  he,"  said  Chillingworth,  smoking;  "the 
Dead-and-Done-with  editor  is  too  keen  for  that ; 
I  won't  give  him  a  job.  He's  ruined.  Egg  sand- 
wiches will  never  stimulate  him  now." 

St.  George  joined  in  the  relieved  laugh  that 
followed.  They  were  remembering  his  young 
Sing  Sing  convict  who  had  completed  his  sentence 
in  time  to  step  in  a  cab  and  follow  his  mother  to 
the  grave,  where  his  stepfather  refused  to  have 
her  coffin  opened.  And  St.  George,  fresh  from 
his  Alma  Mater,  had  weighted  the  winged  words 
of  his  story  with  allusions  to  the  tears  celestial  of 


DINNER  TIME  11 

Thetis,  shed  for  Achilles,  and  Creon's  grief  for 
Haemon,  and  the  Unnatural  Combat  of  Massing- 
er's  father  and  son ;  so  that  Chillingworth  had  said 
things  in  languages  that  are  not  dead  (albeit  a 
bit  Elizabethan)  and  the  composing  room  had 
shaken  mailed  fists. 

"Hi,  you!"  said  Little  Cawthome,  who  was 
bom  in  the  South,  "  this  is  a  mellow  minute. 
I  could  wish  they  came  often.  This  shall  be  a 
weekly  occurrence — not  so,  St.  George?  " 

"  Cawthome,"  Chillingworth  warned,  "  mind 
your  manners,  or  they'll  make  you  city  editor." 

A  momentary  shadow  was  cast  by  the  appear- 
ance of  Rollo,  who  was  manifestly  a  symbol  of  the 
world  Philistine  about  which  these  guests  knew 
more  and  in  which  they  played  a  smaller  part  than 
any  other  class  of  men.  But  the  tray  which  Rollo 
bore  was  his  passport.  Thereafter,  they  all 
trooped  to  the  table,  and  Chillingworth  sat  at  the 
head,  and  from  the  foot  St.  George  watched  the 
city  editor  break  bread  with  the  familiar  nervous 
gesture  with  which  he  was  wont  to  strip  off  yards 
of  copy-paper  and  eat  it.  There  was  a  tacit 
assumption  that  he  be  the  conversational  sun  of 
the  hour,  and  in  fostering  this  understanding  the 
host  took  grateful  refuge. 

"  This  is  shameful,"  Chillingworth  began  con- 
tentedly. "Every  one  of  you  ought  to  be  out  on 
the  Boris  story." 

"  What  is  the  Boris  story?  "  asked  St.  George 


12  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

with  interest.  But  in  all  talk  St.  George  had 
a  restful,  host-like  way  of  playing  the  rdle  of 
opposite  to  every  one  who  preferred  being 
heard. 

"  I'll  wager  the  boy  hasn't  been  reading  the 
papers  these  three  months,"  Amory  opined  in  his 
pleasant  drawl. 

"  No,"  St.  George  confessed;  "  no,  I  haven't. 
They  make  me  homesick." 

"  Don't  maunder,"  said  Chillingworth  in  polite 
criticism.  "This  is  Amory 's  story,  and  only  about 
a  quarter  of  the  facts  yet,"  he  added  in  a  resent- 
ful growl.  "  It's  up  at  the  Boris,  in  West  Fifty- 
ninth  Street— you  know  the  apartment  house? 
A  Miss  Holland,  an  heiress,  living  there  with  her 
aunt,  was  attacked  and  nearly  murdered  by  a 
mulatto  woman.  The  woman  followed  her  to 
the  elevator  and  came  uncomfortably  near  stab- 
bing her  from  the  back.  The  elevator  boy  was 
too  quick  for  her.  And  at  the  station  they 
couldn't  get  the  woman  to  say  a  word;  she 
pretends  not  to  understand  or  to  speak  anything 
they've  tried.  She's  got  Amory  hypnotized  too — 
he  thinks  she  can't.  And  when  they  searched 
her,"  went  on  Chillingworth  with  enjoyment, 
* '  they  found  her  dressed  in  silk  and  cloth  of  gold, 
and  loaded  down  with  all  sorts  of  barbarous 
ornaments,  with  almost  priceless  jewels.  Miss 
Holland  claims  that  she  never  saw  or  heard  of 
the  woman  before.     Now,  what  do  you  make  of 


DINNER  TIME  13 

it?  "   he   demanded,  unconcernedly  draining  his 
glass. 

"  Splendid,"  cried  St.  George  in  unfeigned 
interest.  "  I  say,  sp/lendid.  Did  you  see  the 
woman?  "  he  asked  Amory. 

Amory  nodded. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  Andy  fixed  that  for  me.  But 
she  never  said  a  word.  I  parlez-voused  her,  and 
verstehen-Sied  her,  and  she  sighed  and  turned  her 
head." 

"  Did  you  see  the  heiress?  "St.  George  asked, 

"  Not  I,"  mourned  Amory,  "  not  to  talk  with, 
that  is.  I  happened  to  be  hanging  up  in  the  hall 
there  the  afternoon  it  occurred;"  he  modestly 
explained. 

"What  luck,"  St.  George  commented  with 
genuine  envy.  "  It's  a  stunning  story.  Who  is 
Miss  Holland?  " 

"  She's  lived  there  for  a  year  or  more  with  her 
aunt,"  said  Chillingworth.  "  She  is  a  New  Yorker 
and  an  heiress  and  a  great  beauty — oh,  all  the 
properties  are  there,  but  they're  all  we've  got. 
What  do  you  make  of  it?  "  he  repeated. 

St.  George  did  not  answer,  and  every  one  else  did. 

"  Mistaken  identity,"  said  Little  Cawthome, 
"  Do  you  remember  Provin's  story  of  the  woman 
whose  maid  shot  a  masseuse  whom  she  took  to  be 
her  mistress ;  and  the  woman  forgave  the  shooting 
and  seemed  to  have  her  arrested  chiefly  because 
she  had  mistaken  her  for  a  masseuse?  " 


14  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Too  easy,  Cawthorne,"  said  Chillingworth. 

"The  vv^oman  is  probably  an  Italian,"  said 
the  telegraph  editor,  "  doing  one  of  her  Mafia 
stunts.  It's  time  they  left  the  politicians  alone 
and  threw  bombs  at  the  bonds  that  back  them." 

"  Hey,  Carbury.  Stop  writing  heads,"  said 
Chillingworth. 

"  Has  Miss  Holland  lived  abroad?  "  asked  Crass, 
the  feature  man.  "  Maybe  this  woman  was  her 
nurse  or  ayah  or  something  who  got  fond  of  her 
charge,  and  when  they  took  it  away  years  ago, 
she  devoted  her  life  to  trying  to  find  it  in  America. 
And  when  she  got  here  she  wasn't  able  to  make 
herself  known  to  her,  and  rather  than  let  any 
one  else " 

"  No  more  space-grabbing,  Crass,"  warned 
Chillingworth. 

"  Maybe,"  ventured  Horace,  "  the  young  lady 
did  settlement  work  and  read  to  the  woman's  kid, 
and  the  kid  died,  and  the  woman  thought  she'd 
said  a  charm  over  it." 

Chillingworth  grinned  affectionately. 

"Hold  up,"  he  commanded,  "  or  you'll  recall 
the  very  words  of  the  charm." 

Bennietod  gasped  and  stared. 

"  Now,  Bennietod?  "  Amory  encouraged  him. 

"  I  t'ink,"  said  the  lad,  "  if  she's  a  heiress,  dis 
yere  dagger-plunger  is  her  mudder  dat's  been 
shut  up  in  a  mad-house  to  a  fare-you-well," 

Chillingworth  nodded  approvingly. 


DINNER  TIME  15' 

"  Your  imagination  is  toning  down  wonder- 
fully, ' '  he  flattered  him.  "A  month  ago  you  would 
have  guessed  that  the  mulatto  lady  was  an 
Egyptian  princess'  messenger  sent  over  here  to 
get  the  heart  from  an  American  heiress  as  an 
ingredient  for  a  complexion  lotion.  You're  com- 
ing on  famously,  Todd." 

"  The  German  poet  Wieland,"  began  Benfy, 
clearing  his  throat,  "  has,  in  his  epic  of  the 
Oberon  made  admirable  use  of  much  the  same 

idea,  Mr.  Chillingworth " 

Yells   interrupted   him.      Mr.    Benfy   was   too 

"  well-read  "  to  be  wholly  popular  with  the  staff. 

"  Oh,    well,    the    woman    was    crazy.     That's 

about  all,"  suggested  Harding,  and  blushed  to 

the  line  of  his  hair. 

"  Yes,  I  guess  so,"  assented  Holt,  who  lifted  and 
lowered  one  shoulder  as  he  talked,  "  or  doped." 

Chillingworth  sighed  and  looked  at  them  both 
with  pursed  lips. 

"  You  two,"  he  commented,  "  would  get  out  a 
paper  that  everybody  would  know  to  be  full  of 
reliable  facts,  and  that  nobody  would  buy.  To 
be  bom  with  a  riotous  imagination  and  then 
hardly  ever  to  let  it  riot  is  to  be  a  born  newspaper 
man.     Provin?  " 

The  elder  giant  leaned  back,  his  eyes  partly 
closed. 

"  Is  she  engaged  to  be  married?  "  he  asked. 
**  Is  Miss  Holland  engaged?  " 


16  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Chillingworth  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  engaged.  We  knew  that 
by  tea-time  the  same  day,  Provin.  Well,  St. 
George?  " 

St.  George  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  By  Jove,  I  don't  know,"  he  said,  "  it's  a 
stunning  story.  It's  the  best  story  I  ever  remem- 
ber, excepting  those  two  or  three  that  have  hung 
fire  for  so  long.  Next  to  knowing  just  why  old 
Knnis  disinherited  his  son  at  his  marriage,  I  would 
like  to  ferret  out  this." 

"  Now,  tut,  St.  George,"  Amory  put  in  toler- 
antly, "  next  to  doing  exactly  what  yoa  will  be 
doing  all  this  week  you'd  rather  ferret  out  this." 

"  On  my  honour,  no,"  St.  George  protested 
eagerly,  "  I  mean  quite  what  I  say.  I  might  go 
on  fearfully  about  it.  Lord  knows  I'm  going  to 
see  the  day  when  I'll  do  it,  too,  and  cut  my 
troubles  for  the  luck  of  chasing  down  a  bully 
thing  like  this." 

If  there  was  anything  to  forgive,  every  one 
forgave  him. 

"  But  give  up  ten  minutes  on  The  Aloha,'' 
Amory  skeptically  put  it,  adjusting  his  pince-nez, 
"  for  anything  less  than  ten  minutes  on  The 
Aloha  r' 

"I'll  do  it  now— now! "  cried  St.  George.  "If 
Mr.  Chillingworth  will  put  me  on  this  story  in 
your  place  and  will  give  you  a  week  off  on  The 
Aloha,  you  may  have  her  and  welcome." 


DINNER  TIME  17 

Ijttle  Cawiihorne  pounded  on  the  table. 

"  Where  do  I  come  in?  "  he  wailed.  "  But  no, 
all  I  get  is  another  wad  o'  woe." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Chillingworth?  " 
St.  George  asked  eagerly. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Chillingworth,  medita- 
tively turning  his  glass.  "St.  George  is  rested  and 
fresh,  and  he  feels  the  story.  And  Amory — here, 
touch  glasses  with  me." 

Amory  obeyed.  His  chief's  hand  was  steady, 
but  the  two  glasses  jingled  together  until,  with  a 
smile,  Amory  dropped  his  arm. 

"I  am  about  all  in,  I  fancy,"  he  admitted 
apologetically. 

"  A  week's  rest  on  the  water,"  said  Chilling- 
worth, "  would  set  you  on  your  feet  for  the  con- 
vention.    All  right,  St.  George,"  he  nodded. 

St.  George  leaped  to  his  feet. 

"Hooray!"  he  shouted  like  a  boy.  "Jove, 
won't  it  be  good  to  get  back?  " 

He  smiled  as  he  set  down  his  glass,  remembering 
the  day  at  his  desk  when  he  had  seen  the  white- 
and-brass  craft  slip  to  the  river's  mouth. 

Rollo,  discreet  and  without  wonder,  footed 
softly  about  the  table,  keeping  the  glasses  filled 
and  betraying  no  other  sign  of  life.  For  more 
than  four  hours  he  was  in  attendance,  until,  last 
of  the  guests,  Little  Cawthorne  and  Bennietod 
departed  together,  trying  to  remember  the  dates 
of  the  English  kings.     Finally  Chillingworth  and 


18  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Amory,  having  turned  outdoors  the  dramatic 
critic  who  had  arrived  at  midnight  and  was 
disposed  to  stay,  stood  for  a  moment  by  the  fire 
and  talked  it  over. 

"  Remember,  St.  George,*'  ChilHngworth  said, 
"  I'll  have  no  monkey- work.  You'll  report  to  me 
at  the  old  hour,  you  won't  be  late ;  and  you'll  take 
orders " 

"  As  usual,  sir,"  St.  George  rejoined  quietly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon, "ChilHngworth  said  quickly, 
"  but  you  see  this  is  such  a  deuced  unnatural 
arrangement." 

"  I  understand,"  St.  George  assented,  "  and 
I'll  do  my  best  not  to  get  thrown  down.  Amory 
has  told  me  all  he  knows  about  it — ^by  the  way, 
where  is  the  mulatto  woman  now?  " 

"  Why,"  said  ChilHngworth,  "  some  physician 
got  interested  in  the  case,  and  he's  managed  to 
hurry  her  up  to  the  Bitley  Reformatory  in  West- 
chester for  the  present.  She's  there;  and  that 
means,  we  need  not  disguise,  that  nobody  can  see 
her.  Those  Bitley  people  are  like  a  rabble  of 
wild  eagles." 

"  Right,"  said  St.  George.  "I'll  report  at  eight 
o'clock.  Amory  can  board  The  Aloha  when  he 
gets  ready  arjid  take  down  whom  he  likes." 

"  On  my  life,  old  chap,  it's  a  private  view  of 
Kedar's  tents  to  me,"  said  Amory,  his  eyes  shining 
behind  his  pince-nez.  "I'll  probably  win  wide 
disrespect  by  my  inability  to  tell  a  mainsail  from 


DINNER  TIME  19 

a  cockpit,  but   I'm  a  grateful   dog,  in  spite  of 
that." 

When  they  were  gone  St.  George  sat  by  the 
fire.  He  read  Amory's  story  of  the  Boris  affair 
in  the  paper,  which  somewhere  in  the  apartment 
Rollo  had  unearthed,  and  the  man  took  off  his 
master's  shoes  and  brought  his  slippers  and  made 
ready  his  bath.  St.  George  glanced  over  his 
shoulder  at  the  attractively-dismantled  table,  with 
its  dying  candles  and  slanted  shades. 

"Gad!"  he  said  in  sheer  enjoyment  as  he 
clipped  the  story  and  saw  Rollo  pass  with  the 
towels. 

It  was  so  absurdly  like  a  city  room's  dream  of 
Arcady. 


CHAPTER  II 

A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER 

To  be  awakened  by  RoUo,  to  be  served  in  bed 
with  an  appetizing  breakfast  and  to  catch  a 
hansom  to  the  nearest  elevated  station  were 
novel  preparations  for  work  in  the  Sentinel  office. 
The  impossibility  of  it  all  delighted  St.  George 
rather  more  than  the  reality,  for  there  is  no 
pastime,  as  all  the  world  knows,  quite  like  that  of 
practising  the  impossible.  The  days  when,  "  like 
a  man  unfree, "  he  had  fared  forth  from  his  unlovely 
lodgings  clandestinely  to  partake  of  an  evil 
omelette,  seemed  enchantingly  far  away.  It  was, 
St.  George  reflected,  the  experience  of  having 
been  released  from  prison,  minus  the  disgrace. 

Yet  when  he  opened  the  door  of  the  city  room 
the  odour  of  the  printers'  ink  somehow  fused  his 
elation  in  his  liberty  with  the  elation  of  the  return. 
This  was  like  wearing  fetters  for  bracelets.  When 
he  had  been  obliged  to  breathe  this  air  he  had 
scoffed  at  its  fascination,  but  now  he  understood. 
"  A  newspaper  office,"  so  a  revered  American  of 
letters  who  had  begun  his  life  there  had  oncQ 

2Q 


A  SCRAP  OI^  PAPER  21 

imparted  to  St.  George,  "  is  a  place  where  a  man 
with  the  temperament  of  a  savant  and  a  recluse 
may  bring  his  American  vice  of  commercialism 
and  worship  of  the  uncommon,  and  let  them 
have  it  out.  Newspapers  have  no  other  use — 
except  the  one  I  began  on."  When  St.  George 
entered  the  city  room,  Crass,  of  the  goblin's 
blood  cravats,  had  vacated  his  old  place,  and 
Provin  was  just  uncovering  his  typewriter  and 
banging  the  tin  cover  upon  everything  within 
reach,  and  Bennietod  was  writhing  over  a  rewrite, 
and  Chillingworth  was  discharging  an  office  boy 
in  a  fashion  that  warmed  St.  George's  heart. 

But  Chillingworth,  the  city  editor,  was  an  ital- 
icized form  of  Chillingworth,  the  guest.  He  waved 
both  arms  at  the  foreman  who  ventured  to  tell 
him  of  a  head  that  had  one  letter  too  many,  and 
he  frowned  a  greeting  at  St.  George. 

"  Get  right  out  on  the  Boris  story,"  he  said. 
"  I  depend  on  you.  The  chief  is  interested  in  this 
too — telephoned  to  know  whom  I  had  on  it." 

St.  George  knew  perfectly  that  "  the  chief " 
was  playing  golf  at  Lenox  and  no  doubt  had  read 
no  more  than  the  head-lines  of  the  Holland  story, 
for  he  was  a  close  friend  of  the  bishop's,  and  St. 
George  knew  his  ways ;  but  Chillingworth 's  methods 
always  told,  and  St.  George  turned  away  with 
all  the  old  glow  of  his  first  assignment. 

St.  George,  calling  up  the  Bitley  Reformatory, 
knew  that  the  Chances  and  the  Fates  were  all 


22  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

allied  against  his  seeing  the  mulatto  woman;  but 
he  had  learned  that  it  is  the  one  unexpected  Fate 
and  the  one  apostate  Chance  who  open  great 
good  luck  of  any  sort.  So,  though  the  journey 
to  Westchester  County  was  almost  certain  to 
result  in  refusal,  he  meant  to  be  confronted  by 
that  certainty  before  he  assumed  it.  To  the 
warden  on  the  wire  St.  George  put  his  inquiry. 

"  What  are  your  visitors'  days  up  there,  Mr. 
Jeffrey?  " 

"  Thursdays,"  came  the  reply,  and  the  warden's 
voice  suggested  handcuffs  by  way  of  hospitality. 

"  This  is  St.  George  of  the  Sentinel.  I  want 
very  much  to  see  one  of  your  people — a  mulatto 
woman.     Can  you  fix  it  for  me?  " 

"  Certainly  not,"  returned  the  warden  promptly. 
"The  Sentinel  knows  perfectly  that  newspaper 
men  can  not  be  admitted  here." 

"  Ah,  well  now,  of  course,"  St.  George  conceded, 
"  but  if  you  have  a  mysterious  boarder  who 
talks  Patagonian  or  something,  and  we  think 
that  perhaps  we  can  talk  with  her,  why 
then " 

"  It  doesn't  matter  whether  you  can  talk  every 
language  in  South  America,"  said  the  warden 
bruskly.     "I'm  very  busy  now,  and " 

"See here,  Mr.  Jeffrey,"  said  St.  George,  "is no 
one  allowed  there  but  relatives  of  the  guests?  " 

"  Nobody," — crisply. 

**  I  beg  your  pardon,  that  is  literal?  " 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  2S 

'-*  Relatives,  with  a  permit,"  divulged  the 
warden,  who,  if  he  had  had  a  sceptre  would  have 
used  it  at  table,  he  was  so  fond  of  his  little  power, 
"  and  the  Readers'  Guild." 

"  Ah— the  Readers'  Guild,"  said  St.  George. 
"  W^at  days,  Mr.  Jeffrey?  " 

"  To-day  and  Saturdays,  ten  o'clock.  I'm 
sorr}?-,  Mr.  St.  George,  but  I'm  a  very  busy  man 
and  now " 

"  Good-by,"  St.  George  cried  triumphantly. 

In  half  an  hour  he  was  at  the  Grand  Central 
station,  boarding  a  train  for  the  Reformatory 
town.  It  was  a  little  after  ten  o'clock  when  he 
rang  the  bell  at  the  house  presided  over  by 
Chillingworth's  "  rabble  of  wild  eagles." 

The  Reformatory^  a  boastful, brick  building  set  in 
grounds  that  seemed  freshly  starched  and  ironed, 
had  a  discoloured  door  that  would  have  frowned 
and  threatened  of  its  own  accord,  even  without 
the  printed  warnings  pasted  to  its  panels  stating 
that  no  application  for  admission,  with  or  without 
permits,  would  be  honoured  upon  any  day  save 
Thursday.     This  was  Tuesday. 

Presently,  the  chains  having  fallen  within  after 
a  feudal  rattling,  an  old  man  who  looked  bom  to 
the  business  of  snapping  up  a  drawbridge  in 
lieu  of  a  taste  for  any  other  exclusiveness  peered 
at  St.  George  through  absurd  smoked  glasses, 
cracked  quite  across  so  that  his  eyes  resembled 
buckles. 


24  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"Good  morning,"  said  St.  George;  "has  the 
Readers'  Guild  arrived  yet?  " 

The  old  man  grated  out  an  assent  and  swung 
open  the  door,  which  creaked  in  the  pitch  of  his 
voice.  The  bare  hall  was  cut  by  a  wall  of  steel 
bars  whose  gate  was  padlocked,  and  outside  this 
wall  the  door  to  the  warden's  office  stood  open. 
St.  George  saw  that  a  meeting  was  in  progress 
there,  and  the  sight  disturbed  him.  Then  the 
click  of  a  key  caught  his  attention,  and  he  turned 
to  find  the  old  man  quietly  and  surprisingly 
swinging  open  the  door  of  steel  bars. 

"  This  way,  sir,"  he  said  hoarsely,  fixing  St. 
George  with  his  buckle  eyes,  and  shambled  through 
the  door  after  him  locking  it  behind  them. 

If  St.  George  had  found  awaiting  him  a  gold 
throne  encircled  by  kneeling  elephants  he  could 
have  been  no  more  amazed.  Not  a  word  had  been 
said  about  the  purpose  of  his  visit,  and  not  a 
word  to  the  warden;  there  was  simply  this  mirac- 
ulous opening  of  the  barred  door.  St.  George 
breathlessly  footed  across  the  rotunda  and  down 
the  dim  opposite  hall.  There  was  a  mistake, 
that  was  evident;  but  for  the  moment  St.  George 
was  going  to  propose  no  reform.  Their  steps 
echoed  in  the  empty  corridor  that  extended 
the  entire  length  of  the  great  building  in  an 
odour  of  unspeakable  soap  and  superior  disinfec- 
tants; and  it  was  not  until  they  reached  a  stair 
at  the  far  end  that  the  old  man  halted. 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  25 

-Top  o'  the  steps/'  he  hoarsely  vokmteered 
bhnkmg  his  little  buckle  eyes,  "  first  door  to  the 
left.     My  back's  bad.     I  won't  go  up." 

St.  George,  inhumanely  blessing  the  circum- 
stance, slipped  something  in  the  old  man's  hand 
and  sprang  up  the  stairs. 

The  first  door  at  the  left  stood  ajar.  St 
George  looked  in  and  saw  a  circle  of  bonnets  and 
white  curls  clouded  around  the  edge  of  the  room. 
like  witnesses.  The  Readers'  Guild  was  about 
leavmg;  almost  in  the  same  instant,  with  that 
soft  lift  and  touch  which  makes  a  woman's  gown 
seem  sewed  with  vowels  and  sibilants,  they  all 
arose  and  came  tapping  across  the  bare  floor. 
At  their  head  marched  a  woman  with  such  a 
bright  bonnet,  and  such  a  tinkle  of  ornaments 
on  her  gown  that  at  first  sight  she  quite  looked 
like  a  lamp.  It  was  she  whom  St.  George 
approached. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  madame,"  he  said,  "is 
this  the  Readers'  Guild?" 

There  was  nothing  in  St.  George's  grave  face 
and  deferential  stooping  of  shoulders  to  betray 
how  his  heart  was  beating  or  what  a  bound  it 
gave  at  her  amazing  reply. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "  how  do  you  do?  "—and  her 
manner  had  that  violent  absent-mindedness  which 
almost  always  proves  that  its  possessor  has 
tramed  a  large  family  of  children—  "  I  am 
so    glad    that    you    can    be    with    us    to-day 


26  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

I  am  Mrs.  Manners — ^forgive  me,"  she  be- 
sought with  perfectly  self-possessed  distracted- 
ness,  "I'm  afraid  that  I've  forgotten  your 
name." 

"  My  name  is  St.  George,"  he  answered  as  well 
as  he  could  for  virtual  speechlessness. 

The  other  members  of  the  Guild  were  issuing 
from  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Manners  turned.  She 
had  a  fashion  of  smiling  enchantingly,  as  if  to 
compensate  her  total  lack  of  attention. 

"  Ladies,"  she  said,  "  this  is  Mr.  St.  George,  at 
last." 

Then  she  went  through  their  names  to  him, 
and  St.  George  bowed  and  caught  at  the  flying 
end  of  the  name  of  the  woman  nearest  him,  and 
muttered  to  them  all.  The  one  nearest  was  a 
Miss  Bella  Bliss  Utter,  a  little  brown  nut  of  a 
woman  with  bead  eyes. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  St.  George,"  said  Miss  Utter 
rapidly,  "  it  has  been  a  wonderfid  meeting.  I 
wish  you  might  have  been  with  us.  Fortunately 
for  us  you  are  just  in  time  for  our  third  floor 
council." 

It  had  been  said  of  St.  George  that  when  he  was 
writing  on  space  and  was  in  need,  buildings  fell 
down  before  him  to  give  him  two  columns  on  the 
first  page ;  but  any  architectural  manoeuvre  could 
not  have  amazed  him  as  did  this.  And  too, 
though  there  had  been  occasions  when  silence  or 
an  evasion  would  have  meant  bread  to  him,  the 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  27 

temptation  to  both  was  never  so  strong  as  at  that 
moment.  It  cost  St.  George  an  effort,  which  he 
was  afterward  glad  to  remember  having  made,  to 
tm-n  to  Mrs.  Manners,  who  had  that  air  of  ap- 
pointing committees  and  announcing  the  pro- 
gramme by  which  we  always  recognize  a  leader, 
and  try  to  explain. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  St.  George  said  as  they  reached 
the  stairs,  "  that  you  have  mistaken  me,  Mrs. 
Manners.     I  am  not " 

"  Pray,  pray  do  not  mention  it,  "  cried  Mrs. 
Manners,  shaking  her  little  lamp-shade  of  a  hat 
at  him,  "  we  make  every  allowance,  and  I  am  sure 
that  none  will  be  necessary." 

"  But  I  am  with  the  Evening  Sentinel/*  St. 
George  persisted,  "  I  am  afraid  that " 

"As  if  one's  profession  made  any  difference!  " 
cried  Mrs.  Manners  warmly.  "  No,  indeed,  I 
perfectly  understand.  We  all  understand,"  slie 
assured  him,  going  over  some  papers  in  one  hand 
and  preparing  to  mount  the  stairs.  "  Indeed,  we 
appreciate  it,"  she  murmured,  "do  we  not. 
Miss  Utter?  " 

The  little  brown  nut  seemed  to  crack  in  a 
capacious  smile. 

'•  Indeed,  indeed!"  she  said  fervently,  accenting 
her  emphasis  by  briefly-closed  eyes. 

"  Hymn  books.  Now,  have  we  hymn  books 
enough?  "  plaintively  broke  in  Mrs.  Manners.  "  I 
declare,  those  new  hymn  books  don't  seem  to  have 


28  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  Spirit  of  the  old  ones,  no  matter  what  any  one 
says,"  she  informed  St.  George  earnestly  as  they 
reached  an  open  door.  In  the  next  moment  he 
stood  aside  and  the  Readers'  Guild  filed  past  him. 
He  followed  them.  This  was  pleasantly  like 
magic. 

They  entered  a  large  chamber  carpeted  and 
walled  in  the  garish  flowers  which  many  boards 
of  directors  suppose  will  joy  the  cheerless  breast. 
There  were  present  a  dozen  women  inmates, — 
sullen,  weary-looking  beings  who  seemed  to 
have  made  abject  resignation  their  latest  vice. 
They  turned  their  lustreless  eyes  upon  the  visitors, 
and  a  portly  woman  in  a  red  waist  with  a  little 
American  flag  in  a  buttonhole  issued  to  them  a 
nasal  command  to  rise.  They  got  to  their  feet 
with  a  starched  noise,  like  dead  leaves  blowing, 
and  St.  George  eagerly  scanned  their  faces. 
There  were  women  of  several  nationalities, 
though  they  all  looked  raceless  in  the  ugly  uni- 
forms which  those  same  boards  of  directors  con- 
sider de  rigueur  for  the  soul  that  is  to  be  won  back 
to  the  normal.  A  little  negress,  with  a  spirit  that 
soared  free  of  boards  of  directors,  had  tried  to  tie 
her  closely-clipped  wool  with  bits  of  coloured 
string;  an  Italian  woman  had  a  geranium  over  her 
ear;  and  at  the  end  of  the  last  row  of  chairs, 
towering  above  the  others,  was  a  creature  of  a 
kind  of  challenging,  unforgetable  beauty  whom, 
with  a  thrill  of  certainty,  St.  George  realized  to  be 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  29 

her  whom  he  had  come  to  see.  So  strong  was 
his  conviction  that,  as  he  afterward  recalled,  he 
even  asked  no  question  concerning  her.  She 
looked  as  manifestly  not  one  of  the  canaille  of 
incorrigibles  as,  in  her  place,  Lucrezia  Borgia 
would  have  looked. 

The  woman  was  powerfully  built  with  aston- 
ishing breadth  of  shoulder  and  length  of  limb, 
but  perfectly  proportioned.  She  was  young, 
hardly  more  than  twenty,  St.  George  fancied,  and 
of  the  peculiar  litheness  which  needs  no  motion  to 
be  manifest.  Her  clear  skin  was  of  wonderful 
brown;  and  her  eyes,  large  and  dark,  with  some- 
thing of  the  oriental  watchfulness,  were  like  opaque 
gems  and  not  more  penetrable.  Her  look  was 
immovably  fixed  upon  St.  George  as  if  she  divined 
that  in  some  way  his  coming  affected  her. 

"  We  will  have  our  hymn  first."  Mrs.  Manners' 
words  were  buzzing  and  pecking  in  the  air. 
"What  can  I  have  done  with  that  list  of  numbers? 
We  have  to  select  our  pieces  most  carefully," 
she  confided  to  St.  George,  "so  to  be  sure  that 
Soul's  Prison  or  Hands  Red  as  Crimson,  or,  Do 
You  See  the  Hebrew  Captive  Kneeling  9  or  any- 
thing personal  like  that  doesn't  occur.  Now 
what  can  I  have  done  with  that  list?  " 

Her  words  reached  St.  George  but  vaguely. 
He  was  in  a  fever  of  anticipation  and  enthusiasm. 
He  turned  quickly  to  Mrs.  Manners. 

"  During  the  hymn,"  he  said  simply,  "  I  would 


30  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

like  to  speak  with  one  of  the  women.  Have  I 
your  permission?  " 

Mrs.  Manners  looked  momentarily  perplexed; 
but  her  eyes  at  that  instant  chancing  upon  her 
lost  list  of  hymns,  she  let  fall  an  abstracted 
assent  and  hurried  to  the  waiting  organist. 
Immediately  St.  George  stepped  quietly  down 
among  the  women  already  fluttering  the  leaves 
of  their  hymn  books,  and  sat  beside  the  mulatto 
woman. 

Her  eyes  met  his  in  eager  questioning,  but  she 
had  that  temper  of  unsurprise  of  many  of  the 
eastern  peoples  and  of  some  animals.  Yet  she 
was  under  some  strong  excitement,  for  her  hands, 
large  but  faultlessly  modeled,  were  pressed 
tensely  together.  And  St.  George  saw  that 
she  was  by  no  means  a  mulatto,  or  of  any  race 
that  he  was  able  to  name.  Her  features 
were  classic  and  of  exceeding  fineness,  and  her 
face  was  sensitive  and  highly-bred  and  filled  with 
repose,  like  the  surprising  repose  of  breathing 
arrested  in  marble.  There  was  that  about  her, 
however,  which  would  have  made  one,  consti- 
tuted to  perceive  only  the  arbitrary  balance  of 
things,  feel  almost  afraid;  while  one  of  high 
organization  would  inevitably  have  been  smitten 
by  some  sense  of  the  incalculably  higher  organi- 
zation of  her  nature,  a  nature  which  breathed 
forth  an  influence,  laid  a  spell — did  something 
indefinable.     Sometimes  one  stands  too  closely  to 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  31 

a  Statue  and  is  frightened  by  the  nearness,  as 
by  the  nearness  of  one  of  an  alien  region.  St. 
George  felt  this  directly  he  spoke  to  her.  He 
shook  off  the  impression  and  set  himself  practically 
to  the  matter  in  hand.  He  had  never  had  greater 
need  of  his  faculty  for  directness.  His  low  tone 
was  quite  matter-of-fact,  his  manner  deferentially 
reassuring. 

"  I  think,"  he  said  softly  and  without  preface, 
"  that  I  can  help  you.  Will  you  let  me  help 
you?     Will  you  tell  me  quickly  your  name?  " 

The  woman's  beautiful  eyes  were  filled  with 
distress,  but  she  shook  her  head. 

Your  name  —  name  —  name  ?  "  St.  George 
repeated  earnestly,  but  she  had  only  the  same 
answer.  "  Can  you  not  tell  me  where  you  live?  " 
St.  George  persisted,  and  she  made  no  other  sign. 
"  New  York?  "  went  on  St.  George  patiently. 
"  New  York?     Do  you  live  in  New  York?  " 

There  was  a  sudden  gleam  in  the  woman's 
eyes.  She  extended  her  hands  quickly  in  unmis- 
takable appeal.  Then  swiftly  she  caught  up 
a  hymn  book,  tore  at  its  fly-leaf,  and  made  the 
movement  of  writing.  In  an  instant  St.  George 
had  thrust  a  pencil  in  her  hand  and  she  was 
tracing  something. 

He  waited  feverishly.  The  organ  had  droned 
through  the  hymn  and  the  women  broke  into 
song,  with  loose  lips  and  without  restraint,  as 
street  boys  sing.     He  saw  them  casting  curious, 


32  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

sullen  glances,  and  the  Readers'  Guild  whispering 
among  themselves.  Miss  Bella  Bliss  Utter,  look- 
ing as  distressed  as  a  nut  can  look,  nodded,  and 
Mrs.  Manners  shook  her  head  and  they  meant 
the  same  thing.  Then  St.  George  saw  the  attend- 
ant in  the  red  waist  descend  from  the  platform 
and  make  her  way  toward  him,  the  little  American 
flag  rising  and  falling  on  her  breast.  He  unhes- 
itatingly stepped  in  the  aisle  to  meet  her,  deter- 
mined to  prevent,  if  possible,  her  suspicion  of  the 
message.  "  Is  it  the  barbarism  of  a  gentleman," 
Amory  had  once  propounded,  "or  is  it  the 
gentleman-like  manners  of  a  barbarian  which 
makes  both  enjoy  over-stepping  a  prohibition?  " 

"  I  compliment  you,"  St.  George  said  gravely, 
with  his  deferential  stooping  of  the  shoulders. 
"  The  women  are  perfectly  trained.  This,  of 
course,  is  due  to  you," 

The  hard  face  of  the  woman  softened,  but  St. 
George  thought  that  one  might  call  her  very 
facial  expression  nasal;  she  smiled  with  evident 
pleasure,  though  her  purpose  remained  unsha- 
ken. 

"  They  do  pretty  good,"  she  admitted,  "  but 
visitors  ain't  best  for  'em.     I'll  have  to  request 

you" St.  George  vaguely  wished   that   she 

would  say   "  ask  " "  not  to  talk  to  any  of 

'em." 

St.  George  bowed. 

"  It  is  a  great  privilege,"  he  said  warmly  if  a 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  33 

bit  incoherently,  and.  held  her  in  talk  about  an 
institution  of  the  sort  in  Canada  where  the 
women  inmates  wore  white,  the  managers  claim- 
ing that  the  effect  upon  their  conduct  was  per- 
ceptible, that  they  were  far  more  self-respecting, 
and  so  on  in  a  labyrinth  of  defensive  detail. 
"  What  do  you  think  of  the  idea?  "  he  concluded 
anxiously,  manfully  holding  his  ground  in  the 
aisle. 

"  I  think  it's  mostly  nonsense,"  returned  the 
woman  tartly,  "  a  big  expense  and  a  sight  of 
work  for  nothing.  And  now  permit  me  to 
say " 

St.  George  vaguely  wished  that  she  would  say 
"let." 

"  I  agree  with  you,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  nothing 
could  be  simpler  and  neater  than  these  calico 
gowns." 

The  attendant  looked  curiously  at  him. 

"  They  are  gingham,"  she  rejoined,  "  and  you'll 
excuse  me,  I  hope,  but  visitors  ain't  supposed  to 
converse  with  the  inmates." 

St.  George  was  vanquished  by  "  converse." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  "  pray  forgive 
me.     I  will  say  good-by  to  my  friend." 

He  turned  swiftly  and  extended  his  hand  to 
the  strange  woman  behind  him.  With  the  cun- 
ning upon  which  he  had  counted  she  gave  her 
own  hand,  slipping  in  his  the  folded  paper.  Her 
eyes,  with  their  haunting  watchfulness,  held  his 


34  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

for  a  moment  as  she  mutely  bent  forward  when 
he  left  her. 

The  hymn  was  done  and  the  women  were  seat- 
ing themselves,  as  St.  George  with  beating  heart 
took  his  way  up  the  aisle.  What  the  paper 
contained  he  could  not  even  conjecture;  but 
there  was  a  paper  and  it  did  contain  something 
which  he  had  a  pleasant  premonition  would  be 
invaluable  to  him.  Yet  he  was  still  utterly  at 
loss  to  account  for  his  own  presence  there,  and 
this  he  coolly  meant  to  do. 

He  was  spared  the  necessity.  On  the  platform 
Mrs.  ]Manners  had  risen  to  make  an  announce- 
ment; and  St.  George  fancied  that  she  must 
preside  at  her  tea-urn  and  try  on  her  bonnets 
with  just  that  same  formal  little  "  announcement  " 
air. 

"  My  friends,"  she  said,  "  I  have  now  an  unex- 
pected pleasure  for  you  and  for  us  all.  We  have 
with  us  to-day  Mr.  St.  George,  of  New  York.  Mr. 
St.  George  is  going  to  sing  for  us." 

St.  George  stood  still  for  a  moment,  looking 
into  the  expectant  faces  of  Mrs.  Manners  and  the 
other  women  of  the  Readers'  Guild,  a  spark  of 
understanding  kindling  the  mirth  in  his  eyes. 
This  then  accounted  both  for  his  admittance  to  the 
home  and  for  his  welcome  by  the  women  upon 
their  errand  of  mercy.  He  had  simply  been  very 
naturally  mistaken  for  a  stranger  from  New  York 
who  had  not  arrived.     But  since  he  had  accomp- 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  35' 

lished  something,  though  he  did  not  know  what, 
inasmuch  as  the  slip  of  paper  lay  crushed  in  his 
hand  unread,  he  must,  he  decided,  pay  for  it. 
Without  ado  he  stepped  to  the  platform. 

"  I  have  explained  to  Mrs.  Manners  and  to 
these  ladies,"  he  said  gravely,  "  that  I  am  not 
the  gentleman  who  was  to  sing  for  yoil. 
However,  since  he  is  detained,  I  will  do  what  I 
can." 

This,  mistaken  for  a  merely  perfunctory  speech 
of  self-depreciation,  was  received  in  polite,  con- 
tradicting silence  by  the  Guild,  St.  George, 
who  had  a  ricli,  true  barytone,  quickly  ran  over 
his  little  list  of  possible  songs,  none  of  which  he 
had  ever  sung  to  an  audience  that  a  canoe  would 
not  hold,  or  to  other  accompaniment  than  that 
of  a  mandolin.  Partly  in  memory  of  those  old 
canoe-evenings  St.  George  broke  into  a  low, 
crooning  plantation  melody.  The  song,  like 
much  of  the  Southern  music,  had  in  it  a  semi- 
barbaric  chord  that  the  college  men  had  loved, 
something — or  so  one  might  have  said  who  took 
the  canoe-music  seriously — of  the  wildness  and 
fierceness  of  old  tribal  loves  and  plaints  and 
unremembered  wooings  with  a  desert  background : 
a  gallop  of  hoof-beats,  a  quiver  of  noon  light 
above  saffron  sand — these  had  been,  more  or 
less,  in  the  music  when  St.  George  liad  been 
wont  to  lie  in  a  boat  and  pick  at  the  strings 
while  Amory  paddled;  and  these  he  must  havQ 


36  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

reechoed  before  the  crowd  of  curious  and  sul- 
len and  commonplace,  lighted  by  that  one 
wild,  strange  face.  When  he  had  finished  the 
dark  woman  sat  with  bowed  head,  and  St.  George 
himself  was  more  moved  by  his  own  effort  than 
was  strictly  professional. 

"  Dear  Mr.  St.  George,"  said  Mrs.  Manners, 
going  distractedly  through  her  hand-bag  for 
something  unknown,  "  our  secretary  will  thank 
you  formally.  It  was  she  who  sent  you  our 
request,  was  it  not?  She  will  so  regret  being 
absent  to-day." 

"  She  did  not  send  me  a  request,  Mrs.  Manners," 
persisted  St.  George  pleasantly,  "  but  I've  been 
uncommonly  glad  to  do  what  I  could.  I  am  here 
simply  on  a  mission  for  the  Evening  Sentinel.'" 

Mrs.  Manners  drew  something  indefinite  from 
her  bag  and  put  it  back  again,  and  looked  vaguely 
at  St.  George. 

"  Your  voice  reminds  me  so  much  of  my 
brother,  younger,"  she  observed,  her  eyes  already 
straying  to  the  literature  for  distribution. 

With  soft  exclamatory  twitters  the  Readers' 
Guild  thanked  St.  George,  and  Miss  Bella  Bliss 
Utter,  who  was  of  womankind  who  clasp  their 
hands  when  they  praise,  stood  thus  beside  him 
until  he  took  his  leave.  The  woman  in  the 
red  waist  summoned  an  attendant  to  show  him 
back  down  the  long  corridor. 

At  the  grated  door  within  the  entrance  St, 


A  SCRAP  OF  PAPER  B7 

George  found  the  warden  in  stormy  conference 
with  a  pale  blond  youth  in  spectacles. 

'•  Impossible,"  the  warden  was  saying  bluntly, 
"  I  know  you.  I  know  your  voice.  You  called 
me  up  this  morning  from  the  New  York  Sentinel 
office,  and  I  told  you  then " 

"  But,  my  dear  sir,"  expostulated  the  pale 
blond  youth,  waving  a  music  roll,  "  I  do  assure 
you '• 

"  What  he  says  is  quite  true.  Warden,"  St. 
George  interposed  courteously,  "  I  will  vouch  for 
him.  I  have  just  been  singing  for  the  Readers' 
Guild  myself." 

The  warden  dropped  back  with  a  grudging 
apology  and  brows  of  tardy  suspicion,  and  the 
old  man  blinked  his  buckle  eyes. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  St.  George,  "  good  morn- 
ing." 

Outside  the  door,  with  its  panels  decorated  in 
positive  prohibitions,  he  eagerly  unfolded  the 
precious  paper.  It  bore  a  single  name  and 
address:    Tabnit,  19  McDougle  Street,  New  York. 


CHAPTER  III 

ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  I^ADY 

St.  George  lunched  leisurely  at  his  hotel.  Upon 
his  return  from  Westchester  he  had  gone  directly 
to  McDougle  Street  to  be  assured  that  there  was 
a  house  numbered  19.  Without  difficulty  he  had 
found  the  place;  it  was  in  the  row  of  old  iron- 
balconied  apartment  houses  a  few  blocks  south 
of  Washington  Square,  and  No.  19  differed  in  no 
way  from  its  neighbours  even  to  the  noisy  child- 
ren, without  toys,  tumbling  about  the  sunken 
steps  and  dark  basement  door.  St.  George  con- 
tented himself  with  walking  past  the  house,  for 
the  mere  assurance  that  the  place  existed  dictated 
his  next  step. 

This  was  to  write  a  note  to  Mrs.  Medora  Hast- 
ings, Miss  Holland's  aunt.  The  note  set  forth 
that  for  reasons  which  he  would,  if  he  might, 
explain  later,  he  was  interested  in  the  woman 
who  had  recently  made  an  attempt  upon  her 
niece's  life;  that  he  had  seen  the  woman  and 
had  obtained  an  address  which  he  was  confident 
would  lead  to  further  information  about  her. 
V       38 


ST.  GRORGE  AND  THE  LADY  39 

This  address,  he  added,  he  preferred  not  to  dis- 
close to  the  police,  but  to  Mrs.  Hastings  or  Miss 
Holland  herself,  and  he  begged  leave  to  call  upon 
them  if  possible  that  day.  He  despatched  the 
note  by  Rollo,  whom  he  instructed  to  deliver  it, 
not  at  the  desk,  but  at  the  door  of  Mrs.  Hastings' 
apartment,  and  to  wait  for  an  answer.  He 
watched  with  pleasure  Rollo 's  soft  departure, 
recalling  the  days  when  he  had  sent  a  messenger 
boy  to  some  inaccessible  threshold,  himself 
stamping  up  and  down  in  the  cold  a  block  or  so 
away  to  await  the  boy's  return. 

Rollo  was  back  almost  immediately.  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  Miss  Holland  were  not  at  home. 
St.  George  eyed  his  servant  severely. 

"  Rollo,"  he  said,  "  did  you  go  to  the  door  of 
their  apartment?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Rollo  stiffly,  "  the  elevator 
boy  told  me  they  was  out,  sir." 

"  Showing,"  thought  St,  George,  "that  a  valet 
and  a  gentleman  is  a  very  poor  newspaper  man." 

"  Now  go  back,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "  go  up  in 
the  elevator  to  their  door.  If  they  are  not  in, 
wait  in  the  lower  hallway  until  they  return.  Do 
you  get  that?     Until  they  return." 

"  You'll  want  me  back  by  tea-time,  sir?  "  ven- 
tured Rollo, 

"  Wait,"  St.  George  repeated,  "until  they  return. 
At  three.    Or  six.     Or  nine  o'clock.    Or  midnight." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Rollo  impassively,  "  it 


40  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

ain't  always  wise,  sir,  for  a  man  to  trust  to  his 
own  judgment,  sir,  asking  your  pardon.  His 
judgment,"  he  added,  "  may  be  a  bit  of  the  ape 
left  in  him,  sir." 

St.  George  smiled  at  this  evolutionary  pearl 
and  settled  himself  comfortably  by  the  open  fire 
to  await  Rollo's  return.  It  was  after  three 
o'clock  when  he  reappeared.  He  brought  a  note 
and  St.  George  feverishly  tore  it  open. 

' '  Whom  did  you  see  ?  Were  they  civil  to  you  ?  ' ' 
he  demanded. 

"  I  saw  a  old  lady,  sir,"  said  Rollo  irrever- 
ently. "She  didn't  say  a  word  to  me,  sir,  but 
what  she  didn't  say  was  civiler  than  many  people's 
language.  There's  a  great  deal  in  manner,  sir," 
declaimed  Rollo,  brushing  his  hat  with  his  sleeve, 
and  his  sleeve  with  his  handkerchief,  and  shak- 
ing the  handkerchief  meditatively  over  the  coals. 

St.  George  read  the  note  at  a  glance  and  with 
unspeakable  relief.  They  would  see  him.  A 
refusal  would  have  delayed  and  annoyed  him 
just  then,  in  the  flood-tide  of  his  hope. 

"  My  Dear  Mr.  St.  George,"  the  note  ran.  **  My 
niece  is  not  at  home,  and  I  can  not  tell  how  your 
suggestion  will  be  received  by  her,  though  it  is 
most  kind.  I  may,  however,  answer  for  myself 
that  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  you  at  four  o'clock  this 
afternoon. 

"  Very  truly  yours, 

* '  Medora  Hastings.  ' ' 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  41 

Grateful  for  her  evident  intention  to  waste 
no  time,  St.  George  dressed  and  drove  to  the  Boris, 
punctually  sending  up  his  card  at  four  o'clock.  At 
once  he  was  ushered  to  Mrs.  Hastings'  apartment. 

St.  George  entered  her  drawing-room  incu- 
riously. Three  years  of  entering  drawing- 
rooms  which  he  never  thereafter  was  to  see 
had  robbed  him  of  that  sensation  of  indefinable 
charm  which  for  many  a  strange  room  never 
ceases  to  yield.  He  had  found  far  too  many 
tables  upholding  nothing  which  one  could  remem- 
ber, far  too  many  pictures  that  returned  his 
look,  and  rugs  that  seemed  to  have  been  selected 
arbitrarily  and  because  there  was  none  in  stock 
that  the  owner  really  liked.  He  was  there- 
fore pleasantly  surprised  and  puzzled  by  the 
room  which  welcomed  him.  The  floor  was  tiled 
in  curious  blocks,  strangely  hieroglyphed,  as 
if  they  had  been  taken  from  old  tombs.  Over 
the  fireplace  was  set  a  panel  of  the  same  stone, 
which,  by  the  thickness  of  the  tiles,  formed  a 
low  shelf.  On  this  shelf  and  on  tables  and  in  a 
high  window  was  the  strangest  array  of  objects 
that  St.  George  had  ever  seen.  There  were  small 
busts  of  soft  rose  stone,  like  blocks  of  coral.  There 
was  a  statue  or  two  of  some  indefinable  white 
material,  glistening  like  marble  and  yet  so  soft 
that  it  had  been  indented  in  several  places  by 
accidental  pressure.  There  were  fans  of  strangely- 
woven  silk,   with  sticks  of   carven   rock-crystal, 


42  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and  hand  mirrors  of  polished  copper  set  in  frames 
of  gems  that  he  did  not  recognize.  Upon  the  wall 
were  mended  bits  of  purple  tapestry,  embroidered 
or  painted  or  woven  in  singular  patterns  of  flora 
and  birds  that  St.  George  could  not  name.  There 
were  rolls  of  parchment,  and  vases  of  rock-crystal, 
and  a  little  apparatus,  most  delicately  poised, 
for  weighing  unknown,  delicate  things;  and  jars 
and  cups  without  handles,  all  baked  of  a  soft 
pottery  having  a  nap  like  the  down  of  a  peach. 
Over  the  windows  hung  curtains  of  lace,  woven 
by  hands  which  St.  George  could  not  gaess,  in 
patterns  of  such  freedom  and  beauty  as  western 
looms  never  may  know.  On  the  floor  and  on  the 
divans  were  spread  strange  skins,  some  marked 
like  peacocks,  some  patterned  like  feathers  and 
like  seaweed,  all  in  a  soft  fur  that  was  like  silk. 

Mingled  with  these  curios  were  the  ordinary 
articles  of  a  cultivated  household.  There  were 
many  books,  good  pictures,  furniture  with  simple 
lines,  a  tea-table  that  almost  ministered  of  itself, 
a  work-basket  filled  with  "  violet-weaving  " 
needle- work,  and  a  gossipy  clock  with  well-bred 
chimes.  St.  George  was  enormously  attracted 
by  the  room  which  could  harbour  so  many  pagan 
delights  without  itself  falling  their  victim.  The 
air  was  fresh  and  cool  and  smelled  of  the  window 
primroses. 

In  a  few  moments  Mrs.  Hastings  entered,  and 
if  St.  George  had  been  bewildered  by  the  room  he 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  43 

was  still  more  amazed  by  the  appearance  of  his 
hostess.  She  was  utterly  unlike  the  atmosphere 
of  her  drawing-room.  She  was  a  bustling,  com- 
monplace little  creature,  with  an  expressionless 
face,  indented  rather  than  molded  in  features. 
Her  plump  hands  were  covered  with  jewels,  but 
for  all  the  richness  of  her  gown  she  gave  the 
impression  of  being  very  badly  dressed;  things 
of  jet  and  metal  bobbed  and  ticked  upon  her, 
and  her  side-combs  were  continually  falling  about. 
She  sat  on  the  sofa  and  looked  at  the  seat  which 
St.  George  was  to  have  and  began  to  talk — all 
without  taking  the  slightest  heed  of  him  or 
permitting  him  to  mention  the  Eventing  Sentinel 
or  his  errand.  If  St.  George  had  been  painted 
purple  he  felt  sure  that  she  would  have  acted 
quite  the  same.  Personality  meant  nothing  to 
her. 

"  Now  this  distressing  matter,  Mr.  St.  George," 
began  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  of  this  frightful  mulatto 
woman.  I  didn't  see  her  myself — no,  I  had 
stopped  in  on  the  first  floor  to  visit  my  lawyer's 
wife  who  was  ill  with  neuralgia,  and  I  didn't  see 
the  creature.  If  I  had  been  with  my  niece  I 
dare  say  it  wouldn't  have  occurred.  That's  what 
I  always  say  to  my  niece.  I  always  say,  '  Olivia, 
nothing  need  occur  to  vex  one.  It  always  happens 
because  of  pure  heedlessness.'  Not  that  I  accuse 
my  own  niece  of  heedlessness  in  this  particular. 
It  was  the  elevator  boy  who  was  heedless.     That 


.44  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

is  the  trouble  with  life  in  a  great  city.  Every 
breath  you  draw  is  always  dependent  on 
somebody  else's  doing  his  duty,  and  when  you 
consider  how  many  people  habitually  neglect 
their  duty  it  is  a  wonder — I  always  say  that  to 
Olivia — it  is  a  wonder  that  anybody  is  alive  to 
do  a  duty  when  it  presents  itself.  '  Olivia,'  I 
always  say,  '  nobody  needs  to  die.'  And  I  really 
believe  that  they  nearly  all  do  die  out  of  pure 
heedlessness.  Well,  and  so  this  frightful  mulatto 
creature:  you  know  her,  I  understand?  " 

Mrs.  Hastings  leaned  back  and  consulted 
St.  George  through  her  tortoise-shell  glasses, 
tilting  her  head  high  to  keep  them  on  her  nose  and 
perpetually  putting  their  gold  chain  over  her 
ear,  which  perpetually  pulled  out  her  side-combs. 
•  "  I  saw  her  this  morning,"  St.  George  said. 
**  I  went  up  to  the  Reformatory  in  Westchester, 
and  I  spoke  with  her." 

"  Mercy!  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  I  won- 
der she  didn't  tear  your  eyes  out.  Did  they  have 
her  in  a  cage  or  in  a  cell  ?  What  was  the  creature 
about?  " 

"  She  was  in  a  missionary  meeting  at  the 
moment,"  St.  George  explained,  smiling. 

"  Mercy!  "  said  Mrs.  Hastings  in  exactly  the 
same  tone.  "  Some  trick,  I  expect.  That's  what 
I  warn  Olivia :  '  So  few  things  nowadays  are 
done  through  necessity  or  design.'  Nearly  every- 
thing is  a  trick.     Every  invention  is  a  trick — 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  45 

a  cultured  trick,  one  might  say.  Murder  is  a 
trick,  I  suppose,  to  a  murderer.  That's  why 
civilization  is  bad  for  morals,  don't  you  think? 
Well,  and  so  she  talked  with  you?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Hastings,"  said  St.  George,  "  she 
did  not  say  one  word.  But  she  wrote  something, 
and  that  is  what  I  have  come  to  bring  you." 

"  What  was  it — some  charm?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Hastings.  "Oh,  nobody  knows  what  that  kind  of 
people  may  do.  I'll  meet  any  one  face  to  face, 
but  these  juggling,  incantation  individuals  appal 
me.  I  have  a  brother  who  travels  in  the  Orient, 
and  he  tells  me  about  hideous  things  they  do — 
raising  wheat  and  things,"  she  vaguely  concluded. 

"  Ah!  "  said  St.  George  quickly,  "  you  have  a 
brother — in  the  Orient?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  My  brother  Otho'  has  traveled 
abroad  I  don't  know  how  many  years.  We  have 
a  great  many  stamps.  I  can't  begin  to  pronotmce 
all  the  names,"  the  lady  assured  him. 

"  And  this  brother — is  he  your  niece,  Miss 
Holland's  father?  "  St.  George  asked  eagerly. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings  severely; 
"  I  have  only  one  brother,  and  it  has  been  three 
years  since  I  have  seen  him." 

"  Pardon  me,  Mrs.  Hastings,"  said  St.  George, 
"  this  may  be  most  important.  Will  you  tell  me 
when  you  last  heard  from  him  and  where  he  was  ?  ' ' 

"  I  should  have  to  look  up  the  place,"  she 
answered,   '*  I   couldn't  begin  to  pronounce  th^ 


46  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

name,  I  dare  say.  It  was  somewhere  in  the  South 
Atlantic,  ten  months  or  more  ago." 

"  Ah,"  St.  George  quietly  commented. 

"  Well,  and  now  this  frightful  creature," 
resumed  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  do,  pray,  tell  me  what 
it  was  she  wrote." 

St.  George  produced  the  paper. 

"That  is  it,"  he  said.  "I  fancy  you  will  not 
know  the  street.  It  is  19  McDougle  Street,  and 
the  name  is  simply  Tabnit." 

"  Yes.  And  is  it  a  letter?  "  his  hostess 
demanded,  "  and  whatever  does  it  say?  " 

"It  is  not  a  letter,"  St.  George  explained 
patiently,  "  and  this  is  all  that  it  says.  The  name 
is,  I  suppose,  the  name  of  a  person.  I  have  made 
sure  that  there  is  such  a  number  in  the  street. 
I  have  seen  the  house.  But  I  have  waited  to 
consult  you  before  going  there." 

"Why,  what  is  it  you  think?"  Mrs.  Hastings 
besought  him.  "  Do  you  think  this  person,  whoever 
it  is,  can  do  something?  And  whatever  can  he 
do?  Oh  dear,"  she  ended,  "  I  do  want  to  act  the 
way  poor  dear  Mr.  Hastings  would  have  acted. 
Only  I  know  that  he  would  have  gone  straight 
to  Bitley,  or  wherever  she  is,  and  held  a  revolver 
at  that  mulatto  creature's  head,  and  commanded 
her  to  talk  English.  Mr.  Hastings  was  a  very- 
determined  character.  If  you  could  have  seen 
the  poor  dear  man's  chin!  But  of  course  I  can't 
do  that,  can  I  ?    And  that's  what  I  say  to  Olivia ; 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  47 

*  Olivia,  one  doesn't  need  a  man's  judgment  if 
one  will  only  use  judgment  oneself.'  What  is  it 
you  think,  Mr.  St.  George?  " 

Before  St.  George  could  reply  there  entered  the 
room,  behind  a  low  announcement  of  his  name, 
a  man  of  sixty-odd  years,  nervous,  slightly 
stooped,  his  smooth  pale  face  unlighted  by  little 
deep-set  eyes. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Frothingham!  "  said  Mrs.  Hastings 
in  evident  relief,  "  you  are  just  in  lime.  Mr.  St. 
John  was  just  telling  me  horrible  things  about 
this  frightful  mulatto  creature.  This  is  Mr.  St. 
John.  Mr.  Frothingham  is  my  lawyer  and  my 
brother  Otho's  lawyer.  And  so  I  telephoned 
him  to  come  in  and  hear  all  about  this.  And 
now  do  go  on,  Mr.  St.  John,  about  this  hideous 
woman.     What  is  it  you  think?" 

•'  How  do  you  do,  Mr.  St.  John?  "  said  the 
lawyer  portentously.  His  greeting  was  almost  a 
warning,  and  reminded  St.  George  of  the  way  in 
which  certain  brakemen  call  out  stations.  St. 
George  responded  as  blithely  to  this  name  as  to 
his  own  and  did  not  correct  it.  "And  what,"  went 
on  the  lawyer,  sitting  down  with  long  unclosed 
hands  laid  trimly  along  his  knees,  "  have  you  to 
contribute  to  this  most  remarkable  occurrence, 
Mr.  St.  John?  " 

St.  George  briefly  narrated  the  events  of  the 
morning  and  placed  the  slip  of  paper  in  the  law- 
yer's hands. 


48  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Ah!  We  have  here  a  communication  in  the 
nature  of  a  confession,"  the  lawyer  observed, 
adjusting  his  gold  pince-nez,  head  thrown  back, 
eyebrows  lifted. 

"  Only  the  address,  sir,"  said  St.  George,  "  and 
I  was  just  saying  to  Mrs.  Hastings  that  some  one 
ought  to  go  to  this  address  at  once  and  find  out 
whatever  is  to  be  got  there.  Whoever  goes 
I  will  very  gladly  accompany." 

Mr.  Frothingham  had  a  fashion  of  making 
ready  to  speak  and  soliciting  attention  by  the 
act,  and  then  collapsing  suddenly  with  no  explo- 
sion, like  a  bad  Roman  candle.  He  did  this  now, 
and  whatever  he  meant  to  say  was  lost  to  the 
race;  but  he  looked  very  wise  the  while.  It  was 
rather  as  if  he  discarded  you  as  a  fit  listener, 
than  that  he  discarded  his  own  comment. 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  ought  to  go  myself," 
rambled  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  perhaps  Mr.  Hastings 
would  think  I  ought.  Suppose,  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham, that  we  both  go.  Dear,  dear!  Olivia  always 
sees  to  my  shopping  and  flowers  and  everything 
executive,  but  I  can't  let  her  go  into  these  fright- 
ful places,  can  I?  " 

There  was  a  rustling  at  the  far  end  of  the  room, 
and  some  one  entered.  St.  George  did  not  turn, 
but  as  her  soft  skirts  touched  and  lifted  along 
the  floor  he  was  tinglingly  aware  of  her  presence. 
Even  before  Mrs.  Hastings  heard  her  light  foot- 
fall, even  before  the  clear  voice  spoke,  St.  George 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  49 

knew  that  he  was  at  last  in  the  presence  of  the 
arbiter  of  his  enterprise,  and  of  how  much  else 
he  did  not  know.  He  was  silent,  breathlessly 
waiting  for  her  to  speak, 

"May  I  come  in,  Aunt  Dora?"  she  said.  "I 
want  to  know  to  what  place  it  is  impossible  for 
me  to  go?  " 

She  came  from  the  long  room's  boundary 
shadow.  There  was  about  her  a  sense  of  white 
and  gray  w4th  a  knot  of  pale  colour  in  her  hat 
and  an  orchid  on  her  white  coat.  Mrs.  Hastings, 
taking  no  more  account  of  her  presence  than 
she  had  of  St.  George's,  tilted  back  her  head 
and  looked  at  the  primroses  in  the  window  as 
closely  as  at  anything,  and  absently  presented 
him. 

"  Olivia,"  she  said,  "  this  is  Mr.  St.  John, 
who  knows  about  that  frightful  mulatto  creature. 
Mr.  St.  George,"  she  went  on,  correcting  the  name 
entirely  unintentionally,  "  my  niece.  Miss  Hol- 
land. And  I'm  sure  I  wish  I  knew  what  the 
necessary  thing  to  be  done  is.  That  is  what  I 
always  tell  you,  you  know,  Olivia.  '  Find  out 
the  necessary  thing  and  do  it,  and  let  the  rest 
go.'  " 

"  It  reminds  me  very  much,"  said  the  lawyer, 
clearing  his  throat, "  of  a  case  that  I  had  on  the 
April  calendar " 

Miss  Holland  had  turned  swiftly  to  St.  George : 

"  You  know  the  mulatto  woman? "  she  asked, 


50  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and  the  lawyer  passed  by  the  April  calendar  and 
listened. 

"  I  went  to  the  Bitley  Reformatory  this  morn- 
ing to  see  her,"  St.  George  replied.  "She  gave 
me  this  name  and  address.  We  have  been 
saying  that  some  one  ought  to  go  there  to  learn 
what  is  to  be  learned." 

Mr.  Frothingham  in  a  silence  of  pursed  lips 
offered  the  paper.  Miss  Holland  glanced  at  it 
and  returned  it. 

"  Will  you  tell  us  what  your  interest  is  in  this 
woman? "  she  asked  evenly.  "  Why  you  went 
to  see  her?  " 

"Yes,  Miss  Holland,"  St.  George  replied,  "you 
know  of  course  that  the  police  have  done  their 
best  to  run  this  matter  down.  You  know  it 
because  you  have  courteously  given  them  every 
assistance  in  your  power.  But  the  police  have  also 
been  very  ably  assisted  by  every  newspaper  in 
town.  I  am  fortunate  to  be  acting  in  the  interests 
of  one  of  these — the  Sentinel.  This  clue  was 
put  in  my  hands.  I  came  to  you  confident  of 
your  cooperation." 

Mrs.  Hastings  threw  up  her  hands  with  a  gesture 
that  caught  away  the  chain  of  her  eye-glass  and 
sent  it  dangling  in  her  lap,  and  her  side-combs 
tinkling  to  the  tiled  floor. 

"  Mercy!  "  she  said,  "  a  reporter!  " 

St.  George  bowed. 

"  But  I  never  receive  reporters!  "  she  cried, 


ST.  (GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  51 

"  Olivia — don't  you  know?  A  newspaper  reporter 
like  that  fearful  man  at  Palm  Beach,  who  put  me 
in  the  Courtney's  ball  list  in  a  blue  silk  when  I  never 
wear  colours." 

"  Now  really,  really,  this  intrusion "  began 

Mr.  Frothingham,  his  long,  unclosed  hands  work- 
ing forward  on  his  knees  in  undulations,  as  a  worm 
travels. 

Miss  Holland  turned  to  St.  George,  the  colour 
dyeing  her  face  and  throat,  her  manner  a  bewild- 
ering mingling  of  graciousness  and  hauteur. 

"My  aunt  is  right,"  she  said  tranquilly,  "we 
never  have  received  any  newspaper  representa- 
tive. Therefore,  we  are  unfortunate  never  to 
have  met  one.  You  were  saying  that  we  should 
send  some  one  to  McDougle  Street?  " 

St.  George  was  aware  of  his  heart-beats.  It  was 
all  so  unexpected  and  so  dangerous,  and  she  was 
so  perfectly  equal  to  the  circumstance. 

"  I  was  asking  to  be  allowed  to  go  myself,  Miss 
Holland,"  he  said  simply,  "with  whoever  makes 
the  investigation." 

Mrs.  Hastings  was  looking  mutely  from  one  to 
another,  her  forehead  in  horizons  of  wrinkles. 

"I'm  sure,  Olivia,  I  think  you  ought  to  be 
careful  what  you  say,"  she  plaintively  began. 
"  Mr.  Hastings  never  allowed  his  name  to  go  in 
any  printed  lists  even,  he  was  so  particular.  Our 
telephone  had  a  private  number,  and  all  the 
papers  had  instructions  never  to  mention  him, 


52  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

even  if  he  was  murdered,  unless  he  took  down  the 
notice  himself.  Then  if  anything  important  did 
happen,  he  often  did  take  it  down,  nicely  type- 
written, and  sometimes  even  then  they  didn't  use 
it,  because  they  knew  how  very  particular  he  was. 
And  of  course  we  don't  know  how " 

St.  George's  eyes  blazed,  but  he  did  not  lift 
them.  The  affront  was  unstudied  and,  indeed, 
unconscious.  But  Miss  Holland  understood  how 
grave  it  was,  for  there  are  women  whose  intuition 
would  tell  them  the  etiquette  due  upon  meeting 
the  First  Syndic  of  Andorra  or  a  noble  from 
Gambodia. 

"  We  want  the  truth  about  this  as  much  as  Mr. 
St.  George  does,"  she  said  quickly,  smiling  for  the 
first  time.  St.  George  liked  her  smile.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  amused,  not  absent-minded  nor  yet 
a  prey  to  the  feminine  immorality  of  ingratiation. 
"  Besides,"  she  continued,  "  I  wish  to  know  a 
great  many  things.  How  did  the  mulatto  woman 
impress  you,  Mr.  St.  George?  " 

Miss  Holland  loosened  her  coat,  revealing  a  little  ' 
flowery  waist,  and  leaned  forward  with  parted  lips. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  with  the  beauty  of  perfect, 
blooming,  colourful  youth,  without  line  or  shadow. 
She  was  in  the  very  noon  of  youth,  but  her  eyes 
did  not  wander  after  the  habit  of  youth ;  they  were 
direct  and  steady  and  a  bit  critical,  and  she  spoke 
slowly  and  with  graceful  sanity  in  a  voice  that 
was  without  nationality.     She  might  have  been 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  63 

the  cultivated  English-speaking  daughter  of 
almost  any  land  of  high  civilization,  or  she  might 
have  been  its  princess.  Her  face  showed  her 
imaginative ;  her  serene  manner  reassured  one  that 
she  had  not,  in  consequence,  to  pay  the  usury  of 
lack  of  judgment;  she  seemed  reflective,  tender, 
and  of  a  fine  independence,  tempered,  however,  by 
tradition  and  unerring  taste.  Above  all,  she 
seemed  alive,  receptive,  like  a  woman  with  ten 
senses.  And — above  all  again — she  had  charm. 
Finally,  St.  George  could  talk  with  her;  he 
did  not  analyze  why; 'he  only  knew  that  this 
woman  understood  what  he  said  in  precisely  the 
way  that  he  said  it,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  fifth 
essence  in  nature. 

"May  I  tell  you?"  asked  St.  George  eagerly. 
"  She  seemed  to  me  a  very  wonderful  woman. 
Miss  Holland;  almost  a  woman  of  another  world. 
She  is  not  mulatto — her  features  are  quite  classic; 
and  she  is  not  a  fanatic  or  a  mad-woman.  She  is, 
of  her  race,  a  strangely  superior  creature,  and  I 
fancy,  of  high  cultivation;  and  I  am  convinced 
that  at  the  foundation  of  her  attempt  to  take  your 
Hfe  there  is  some  tremendous  secret.  I  think  we 
must  find  out  what  that  is,  first,  for  your  own 
sake;  next,  because  this  is  the  sort  of  thing  that 
is  worth  while." 

"Ah,"  cried  Miss  Holland,  "delightful.  I 
begin  to  be  glad  that  it  happened.  The  police 
said  that  she  was  a  great  brutal  negress,  and  I 


54  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

thought  she  must  be  insane.  The  cloth-of-gold 
and  the  jewels  did  make  me  wonder,  but  I  hardly 
believed  that." 

"  The  newspapers,^'  Mr.  Frothingham  said 
acidly,  "  became  very  much  involved  in  their 
statements  concerning  this  matter." 

"  This  '  Tabnit,'  "  said  Miss  Holland,  and 
flashed  a  smile  of  pretty  deference  at  the  lawyer  to 
console  him  for  her  total  neglect  of  his  comment, 
"  in  McDougle  Street.  Who  can  he  be? — he  is  a 
man,  I  suppose.    And  where  is  McDougle  Street?" 

St.  George  explained  the  location,  and  Mrs. 
Hastings  fretfully  commented. 

"I'm  sure,  Olivia,"  she  said,  "  I  think  it  is 
frightfully  unwomanly  in  you " 

"  To  take  so  much  interest  in  my  own  murder?  " 
Miss  Holland  asked  in  amusement.  "  Aunt  Dora, 
I'm  going  to  do  more:  I  suggest  that  you  and 
Mr.  Frothingham  and  I  go  with  Mr.  St.  George  to 
this  address  in  McDougle  Street " 

"  My  dear  Olivia!  "  shrilled  Mrs.  Hastings,  "  it's 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  Bowery — isn't  it,  Mr. 
St.  John?      And  only  think " 

It  was  as  if  Mrs.  Hastings'  frustrate  words 
emerged  in  the  fantastic  guise  of  her  facial  changes. 

"  No,  it  isn't  quite  the  Bowery,  Mrs.  Hast- 
ings," St.  George  explained,  "  though  it  won't  look 
unlike." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  Mr.  Hastings  would  have 
done,"    his   widow   mourned,  "  he    always    said 


ST    GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  55 

to  me:  '  Medora,  do  only  the  necessary  thing.' 
Do  you  think  this  is  the  necessary  thing — with  all 
the  frightful  smells?" 

•'  It  is  perfectly  safe,"  ventured  St.  George, 
"  is  it  not,  Mr.  Frothingham?  " 

Mr.  Frothingham  bowed  and  tried  to  make  non- 
partisanship  seem  a  tasteful  resignation  of  his 
own  will. 

"  I  am  at  Mrs.  Hastings'  command,"  he  said, 
waving  both  hands,  once,  from  the  wrist. 

"  You  know  the  place  is  really  only  a  few  blocks 
from  Washington  Square,"  St.  George  submitted. 

Mrs.  Hastings  brightened. 

"  Well,  I  have  some  friends  in  Washington 
Square,"  she  said,  "  people  whom  I  think  a  great 
deal  of,  and  always  have.  If  you  really  feel, 
Olivia " 

"I  do,"  said  Miss  Holland  simply,  "  and 
let  us  go  now.  Aunt  Dora.  The  brougham  has 
been  at  the  door  since  I  came  in.  We  may  as 
well  drive  there  as  anywhere,  if  Mr.  St.  George 
is  willing." 

"  I  shall  be  happy,"  said  St.  George  sedately, 
longing  to  cry:  "Willing!  Willing!  Oh,  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  Miss  Holland — ■willing  !" 

Miss  Holland  and  St.  George  and  the  lawyer 
were  alone  for  a  few  minutes  while  Mrs.  Hastings 
rustled  away  for  her  bonnet.  Miss  Holland  sat 
where  the  afternoon  light,  falling  through  the 
comer  window,  smote  her  hair  to  a  glory  of  pale 


56  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

colour,  and  St.  George's  eyes  wandered  to  the  glass 
through  which  the  sun  fell.  It  was  a  thin  pane 
of  irregular  pieces  set  in  a  design  of  quaint, 
meaningless  characters,  in  the  centre  of  which 
was  the  figure  of  a  sphinx,  crucified  upon  an 
upright  cross  and  surrounded  by  a  border  of 
coiled  asps  with  winged  heads.  The  window 
glittered  like  a  sheet  of  gems. 

"What  wonderful  glass,"  involuntarily  said 
St.  George. 

"Is  it  not?  "  Miss  Holland  said  enthusiastic- 
ally. "  My  father  sent  it.  He  sent  nearly  all 
these  things  from  abroad." 

"  I  wonder  where  such  glass  is  made,"  observed 
St.  George;  "it  is  like  lace  and  precious  stones — 
hardly  more  painted  than  carved." 

She  bent  upon  him  such  a  sudden,  searching 
look  that  St.  George  felt  his  eyes  held  by  her  own. 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  my  father?  "  she 
demanded  suddenly. 

"  Only  that  Mrs.  Hastings  has  just  told  me 
that  he  is  abroad — in  the  South  Atlantic," 
St.  George  wonderingly  replied. 

"  Why,  I  am  very  foolish,"  said  Miss  Holland 
quickly,  "  we  have  not  heard  from  him  in  ten 
months  now,  and  I  am  frightfully  worried.  Ah 
yes,  the  glass  is  beautiful.  It  was  made  in  one 
of  the  South  Atlantic  islands,  I  believe — so  were 
all  these  things,"  she  added;  "the  same  figure 
of  the  crucified  sphinx  is  on  many  of  them." 


ST.  GEORGE  AND  THE  LADY  57 

"  Do  you  know  what  it  means?  "   he  asked. 

"It  is  the  symbol  used  by  the  people  in  one 
of  the  islands,  my  father  said,"  she  answered. 

"  These  symbols  usually,  I  believe,"  volunteered 
Mr.  Frothingham,  frowning  at  the  glass,  "  have 
little  significance,  standing  merely  for  the  loose 
barbaric  ideas  of  a  loose  barbaric  nation." 

St.  George  thought  of  the  ladies  of  Doctor  John- 
son's Amicable  Society  who  walked  from  the  town 
hall  to  the  Cathedral  in  Lichfield,  "in  linen  gowns, 
and  each  has  a  stick  with  an  acorn;  but  for  the 
acorn  they  could  give  no  reason." 

He  looked  long  at  the  glass. 

"  She,"  he  said  finally,  "  our  false  mulatto, 
ought  to  stand  before  just  such  glass." 

Miss  Holland  laughed.  She  nodded  her  head 
a  little,  once,  every  time  she  laughed,  and  St. 
George  was  learning  to  watch  for  that. 

"  The  glass  would  suit  any  style  of  beauty 
better  than  steel  bars,"  she  said  lightly  as  Mrs. 
Hastings  came  fluttering  back.  Mrs.  Hastings 
fluttered  ponderously,  as  humblebees  fly.  Indeed, 
when  one  considered,  there  was  really  a  "  blunt- 
faced  bee  "  look  about  the  woman. 

The  brougham  had  on  the  box  two  men  in 
smart  livery;  the  footman,  closing  the  door, 
received  St.  George's  reply  to  Mrs.  Hastings' 
appeal  to  "  tell  the  man  the  nmnber  of  this 
frightful  place." 

"  I    dare   say   I   haven't   been   careful,"    Mrs. 


58  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Hastings  kept  anxiously  observing,  "  I  have  been 
heedless,  I  dare  say.  And  I  always  think  that 
what  one  must  avoid  is  heedlessness,  don't  you 
think  ?  Didn't  Napoleon  say  that  if  only 
Caesar  had  been  first  in  killing  the  men  who 
wanted  to  kill  him — something  about  Pompey's 
statue  being  kept  clean.  What  was  it — why 
should  they  blame  Caesar  for  the  condition  of 
the  public  statues?  " 

"  My  dear  Mrs.  Hastings,"  Mr.  Frothingham 
reminded  her,  his  long  gloved  hands  laid  trimly 
along  his  knees  as  before,  "  you  are  in  my  care." 

The  statue  problem  faded  from  the  lady's  eyes. 

"  Poor,  dear  Mr.  Hastings  always  said  you 
were  so  admirable  at  cross-questioning,"  she 
recalled,  partly  reassured. 

"  Ah,"  cried  Miss  Holland  protestingly,  "  Aunt 
Dora,  this  is  an  adventure.  We  are  going  to  see 
'Tabnit.'  " 

St.  George  was  silent,  ecstatically  reviewing  the 
events  of  the  last  six  hours  and  thinking  unen- 
viously  of  Amory,  rocking  somewhere  with  The 
Aloha  on  a  mere  stretch  of  green  water. 

"  If  Chillingworth  could  see  me  now,"  he 
thought  victoriously,  as  the  carriage  turned 
smartly  into  McDougle  Street. 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY 

No.  19  McDougle  Street  had  been  chosen  as  a 
likely  market  by  a  "  hokey-pokey  "  man,  who 
had  wheeled  his  cart  to  the  curb  before  the 
entrance.  There,  despite  Mrs.  Hastings'  coach- 
man's peremptory  appeal,  he  continued  to  dis- 
pense stained  ice-cream  to  the  little  denizens 
of  No.  19  and  the  other  houses  in  the  row.  The 
brougham,  however,  at  once  proved  a  coun- 
ter-attraction and  immediately  an  opposition 
group  formed  about  the  carriage  step  and 
exchanged  penetrating  comments  upon  the 
livery. 

"  Mrs.  Hastings,  you  and  Miss  Holland  would 
better  sit  here,  perhaps,"  suggested  St.  George, 
alighting  hurriedly,  "  until  I  see  if  this  man  is  to 
be  found." 

"  Please,"  said  Miss  Holland,  "  I've  always 
been  longing  to  go  into  one  of  these  houses,  and 
now  I'm  going.     Aren't  we.  Aunt  Dora?" 

"  If  you  think — "  ventured  Mr.  Frothingham  in 
perplexity;  but    Mr.    Frothingham's    perplexity 

59 


60  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

always  impressed  one  as  duty-born  rather  than 
judicious,  and  Miss  Holland  had  already 
risen. 

"Olivia!"  protested  Mrs.  Hastings  faintly, 
accepting  St.  George's  hand,  "  do  look  at  those 
children's  aprons.  I'm  afraid  we'll  all  contract 
fever  after  fever,  just  coming  this  far." 

Unkempt  women  were  occupying  the  doorstep 
of  No.  19.  St.  George  accosted  them  and  asked 
the  way  to  the  rooms  of  a  Mr.  Tabnit.  They 
smiled,  displaying  their  wonderful  teeth,  con- 
sulted together,  and  finally  with  many  labials  and 
uncouth  pointings  of  shapely  hands  they  indi- 
cated the  door  of  the  "first  floor  front,"  whose 
wooden  shutters  were  closely  barred.  St.  George 
led  the  way  and  entered  the  bare,  unclean 
passage  where  discordant  voices  and  the  odours 
of  cooking  wrought  together  to  poison  the  air. 
He  tapped  smartly  at  the  door. 

Immediately  it  was  opened  by  a  graceful  boy, 
dressed  in  a  long,  belted  coat  of  dun-colour.  He 
had  straight  black  hair,  and  eyes  which  one  saw 
before  one  saw  his  face,  and  he  gravely  bowed 
to  each  of  the  party  in  turn  before  answering 
St.  George's  question. 

"  Assuredly,"  said  the  youth  in  perfect  Eng- 
lish, "  enter." 

They  found  themselves  in  an  ample  room 
extending  the  full  depth  of  the  house;  and 
partly  because  the  light  was  dim  and  partly  in 


I 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  61 

sheer  amazement  they  involmitarily  paused  as  the 
door  clicked  behmd  them.  The  room's  contrast 
to  the  squalid  neighbourhood  was  complete. 
The  apartment  was  carpeted  in  soft  rugs  laid 
one  upon  another  so  that  footfalls  were  silenced. 
The  walls  and  ceiling  were  smoothly  covered  with 
a  neutral-tinted  silk,  patterned  in  dim  figures; 
and  from  a  fluted  pillar  of  exceeding  lightness  an 
enormous  candelabrum  shed  clear  radiance  upon 
the  objects  in  the  room.  The  couches  and  divans 
were  woven  of  some  light  reed,  made  with  high 
fantastic  backs,  in  perfect  purity  of  line  however, 
and  laid  with  white  mattresses.  A  little  reed 
table  showed  slender  pipes  above  its  surface  and 
these,  at  a  touch  from  the  boy,  sent  to  a  great 
height  tiny  columns  of  water  that  tinkled  back  to 
the  square  of  metal  upon  which  the  table  was  set. 
A  huge  fan  of  blanched  grasses  automatically 
swayed  from  above.  On  a  side-table  were  decan- 
ters and  cups  and  platters  of  a  material  frail  and 
transparent.  Before  the  shuttered  window  stood 
an  observable  plant  with  coloured  leaves.  On  a 
great  table  in  the  room's  centre  were  scattered 
objects  which  confused  the  eye.  A  light  curtain 
stirring  in  the  fan's  faint  breeze  hung  at  the  far 
end  of  the  room. 

In  a  career  which  had  held  many  surprises, 
some  of  which  St.  George  would  never  be  at 
liberty  to  reveal  to  the  paper  in  whose  service 
he  had  come  upon  them,  this  was  one  of  the  most 


62  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

alluring.  The  mere  existence  of  this  strange  and 
luxurious  habitation  in  the  heart  of  such  a 
neighbourhood  would,  past  expression,  delight  Mr. 
Crass,  the  feature  man,  and  no  doubt  move  even 
Chillingworth  to  approval.  Chilling  worth  and 
Crass !  Already  they  seemed  strangers.  St.  George 
glanced  at  Miss  Holland;  she  was  looking  from 
side  to  side,  like  a  bird  alighted  among  strange 
flowers;  she  met  his  eyes  and  dimpled  in  frank 
delight.  Mrs.  Hastings  sat  erectly  beside  her, 
her  tortoise-rimmed  glasses  expressing  bland 
approval.  The  improbability  of  her  surroundings 
had  quite  escaped  her  in  her  satisfied  discovery 
that  the  place  was  habitable.  The  lawyer,  his 
thin  lips  parted,  his  head  thrown  back  so  that 
his  hair  rested  upon  his  coat  collar,  remained 
standing,  one  long  hand  upon  a  coat  lapel. 

"  Ah,"  said  Miss  Holland  softly,  "  it  is  an 
adventure,  Aunt  Dora." 

St.  George  liked  that.  It  irritated  him,  he  had 
once  admitted,  to  see  a  woman  live  as  if  living 
were  a  matter  of  life  and  death.  He  wished  her 
to  be  alive  to  everything,  but  without  suspiciously 
scrutinizing  details,  like  a  census-taker.  To  appre- 
ciate did  not  seem  to  him  properly  to  mean  to 
assess.  Miss  Holland,  he  would  have  said, 
seemed  to  live  by  the  beats  of  her  heart  and  not 
by  the  waves  of  her  hair — but  another  proof, 
perhaps,  of  "if  thou  likest  her  opinions  thou  wilt 
praise  her  virtues." 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  63 

It  was  but  a  moment  before  the  curtain  was 
lifted,  and  there  approached  a  youth,  appar- 
ently in  the  twenties,  slender  and  delicately 
formed  as  a  woman,  his  dark  face  surmounted 
by  a  great  deal  of  snow-white  hair.  He  was  wear- 
ing garments  of  grey,  cut  in  unusual  and  graceful 
lines,  and  his  throat  was  closely  wound  in  folds 
of  soft  white,  fastened  by  a  rectangular  green 
jewel  of  notable  size  and  brilliance.  His  eyes, 
large  and  of  exceeding  beauty  and  gentleness, 
were  fixed  upon  St.  George. 

"  Sir,"  said  St.  George,  "  we  have  been  given 
this  address  as  one  where  we  may  be  assisted  in 
some  inquiries  of  the  utmost  importance.  The 
name  which  we  have  is  simply  '  Tabnit.'  Have  I 
the  honour — " 

Their  host  bowed. 

"  I  am  Prince  Tabnit,"  he  said  quietly. 

St.  George,  filled  with  fresh  amazement,  gravely 
named  himself  and,  making  presentation  of  the 
others,  purposely  omitted  the  name  of  Miss 
Holland.  However,  hardly  had  he  finished  before 
their  host  bowed  before  Miss  Holland  herself. 

"  And  you,"  he  said,  "  you  to  whom  I  owe  an 
expiation  which  I  can  never  make, — do  you  know 
it  is  my  servant  who  would  have  taken  your  life? " 

In  the  brief  interval  following  this  naive  asser- 
tion, his  guests  were  not  unnaturally  speechless. 
Miss  Holland,  bending  slightly  forward,  looked  at 
tlie  prince  breathlessly. 


64  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  I  have  suffered,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  suffered 
indescribably  since  that  terrible  morning  when  I 
missed  her  and  understood  her  mission.  I  fol- 
lowed quickly — I  was  without  when  you  entered, 
but  I  came  too  late.  Since  then  I  have  waited, 
unwilling  to  go  to  you,  certain  that  the  gods 
would  permit  the  possible.  And  now — ^what  shall 
I  say?  " 

He  hesitated,  his  eyes  meeting  Miss  Holland's. 
And  in  that  moment  Mrs.  Hastings  found  her 
voice.  She  curved  the  chain  of  her  eye-glasses 
over  her  ear,  threw  back  her  head  until  the 
tortoise-rims  included  her  host,  and  spoke  her 
mind. 

"  Well,  Prince  Tabnit,"  she  said  sharply — 
quite  as  if,  St.  George  thought,  she  had  been 
nursery  governess  to  princes  all  her  life — **  I 
must  say  that  I  think  your  regret  comes  some- 
what late  in  the  day.  It's  all  very  well  to  suffer 
as  you  say  over  what  your  servant  has  tried  to 
do.  But  what  kind  of  man  must  you  be  to 
have  such  a  servant,  in  the  first  place?  Didn't 
you  know  that  she  was  dangerous  and  blood- 
thirsty, and  very  likely  a  maniac-born?  " 

Her  voice,  never  modulated  in  her  excitements, 
was  so  full  that  no  one  heard  at  that  instant  a 
quick,  indrawn  breath  from  St.  George,  having 
something  of  triumph  and  something  of  terror. 
Even  as  he  listened  he  had  been  running  swiftly 
over  the  objects  in  the  room  to  fasten  every  one 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  65 

in  his  memory,  and  his  eyes  had  rested  upon  the 
table  at  his  side.  A  disc  of  bronze,  supported 
upon  a  carven  tripod,  caught  the  light  and 
challenged  attention  to  its  delicate  traceries;  and 
within  its  border  of  asps  and  goat's  horns  he  saw 
cut  in  the  dull  metal  a  sphinx  crucified  upon  an 
upright  cross — an  exact  facsimile  of  the  device 
upon  that  strange  opalized  glass  from  some 
far-away  island  which  he  had  lately  noted  in 
the  window  in  Mrs.  Hastings'  drawing-room. 
Instantly  his  mind  was  besieged  by  a  volley  of 
suppositions  and  imaginings,  but  even  in  his 
intense  excitement  as  to  what  this  simple  dis- 
covery might  bode,  he  heard  the  prince's  soft 
reply  to  Mrs.  Hastings: 

"  Madame,"  said  the  prince,  "  she  is  a  loyal 
creature.  Wliatever  she  does,  she  believes  herself 
to  be  doing  in  my  service.  I  trusted  her.  I 
believed  that  such  error  was  impossible  to  her." 

"  Error!  "  shrilled  Mrs.  Hastings,  looking  about 
her  for  support  and  finding  little  in  the  aspect  of 
Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham,  who  appeared  to  be 
regarding  the  whole  proceeding  as  one  from  v/hich 
he  was  to  extract  data  to  be  thought  out  at  some 
future  infinitely  removed. 

As  for  St.  George,  he  had  never  had  great 
traffic  with  a  future  infinitely  removed;  he 
had  a  youthful  and  somewhat  imaginative  fash- 
ion of  striking  before  the  iron  was  well  in  the 
fire. 


66  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"Your  servant  believed,  then,  your  Highness," 
he  said  clearly,  "that  in  taking  Miss  Holland's 
life  she  was  serving  you?  " 

"  I  must  regretfully  conclude  so." 

St.  George  rose,  holding  the  little  brazen  disc 
which  he  had  taken  from  the  table,  and  confronted 
his  host,  compelling  his  eyes. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  tell  us,  Prince  Tabnit,"  he 
said  coolly,  "  what  it  is  that  the  people  who  use 
this  device  find  against  Miss  Holland's  father?  " 

St.  George  heard  Olivia's  little  broken  cry. 

"  It  is  the  same!  "  she  exclaimed.  "Aunt  Dora 
— Mr.  Frothingham — it  is  the  crucified  sphinx 
that  was  on  so  many  of  the  things  that  father 
sent.  Oh,"  she  cried  to  the  prince,  "  can  it  be 
possible  that  you  know  him — that  you  know 
anything  of  my  father?  " 

To  St.  George's  amazement  the  face  of  the  prince 
softened  and  glowed  as  if  with  peculiar  delight, 
and  he  looked  at  St.  George  with  admiration. 

"  Is  it  possible,"  he  murmured,  half  to  himself, 
"  that  your  race  has  already  developed  intuition? 
Are  you  indeed  so  near  to  the  Unknown?  " 

He  took  quick  steps  away  and  back,  and 
turned  again  to  St.  George,  a  strange  joy  dawn- 
ing in  his  face. 

"  If  there  be  some  who  are  ready  to  know!  " 
he  said.      "Ah,"   he  recalled   himself    penitently 
to  Miss  Holland,   "  your  father — Otho   Holland 
I  have  seen  him  many  times." 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  67 

"  Seen  Otho!  "  shrilled  Mrs.  Hastings,  as  pink 
and  trembling  and  expressionless  as  a  disturbed 
mold  of  jelly.  "  Oh,  poor,  dear  Otho!  Did  he 
live  where  there  are  people  like  your  frightful 
servant?  Olivia,  think!  Maybe  he  is  lying  at 
the  bottom  of  a  gorge,  all  wounded  and  bloody, 
with  a  dagger  in  his  back!  Oh,  my  poor,  dear 
Otho,  who  used  to  wheel  me  about!  " 

Mrs.  Hastings  collapsed  softly  on  the  divan,  her 
glasses  fallen  in  her  lap,  her  side-combs  slipping 
silently  to  the  rug.  Olivia  had  risen  and  was 
standing  before  Prince  Tabnit. 

"Tell  me,"  she  said  trembling,  "when  have 
you  seen  him?     Is  he  well?  " 

Prince  Tabnit  swept  the  faces  of  the  others  and 
his  eyes  returned  to  Miss  Holland  and  dropped 
to  the  floor. 

"  The  last  time  that  I  saw  him.  Miss  Holland," 
he  answered,  "  was  three  months  ago.  He  was 
then  alive  and  well." 

Something  in  his  tone  chilled  St.  George  and 
sent  a  sudden  thrill  of  fear  to  his  heart. 

"  He  was  then  alive  and  well?  "  St.  George 
repeated  slowly.  "Will  you  tell  us  more, 
your  Highness?  Will  you  tell  us  why  the  death 
of  his  daughter  should  be  considered  a  service 
to  the  prince  of  a  cotmtry  which  he  had 
visited?" 

"  You  are  very  wonderful,"  observ^ed  the  prince, 
smiling   meditatively  at  St.  George,  "  and  your 


68  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

penetration  gives  me  good  news — ^news  that  I 
had  not  hoped  for,  yet.  I  can  not  tell  you  all 
that  you  ask,  but  I  can  tell  you  much.  Will  you 
sit  down?  " 

He  turned  and  glanced  at  the  curtain  at  the 
far  end  of  the  room.  Instantly  the  boy  servant 
appeared,  bearing  a  tray  on  which  were  placed,  in 
dishes  of  delicate-coloured  filigree,  strange  dainties 
not  to  be  classified  even  by  a  cosmopolitan,  with 
his  Flemish  and  Finnish  and  all  but  Icelandic 
cafes  in  every  block. 

"  Pray  do  me  the  honour,"  the  prince  besought, 
taking  the  dishes  from  the  hands  of  the  boy. 
"  It  gives  me  pleasure,  Miss  Holland,  to  tell  you 
that  your  father  has  no  doubt  had  these  very 
plates  set  before  him." 

Upon  a  little  table  he  deftly  arranged  the 
dishes  with  all  the  smiling  ease  of  one  to  whom 
afternoon  tea  is  the  only  business  toward,  and 
to  whom  an  attempted  murder  is  wholly  alien. 
He  impressed  St.  George  vaguely  as  one  who 
seemed  to  have  risen  from  the  dead  of  the  crudities 
of  mere  events  and  to  be  living  in  a  rarer  atmos- 
phere. The  lawyer's  face  was  a  study.  Mr. 
Augustus  Frothingham  never  went  to  the  theatre 
because  he  did  not  believe  that  a  man  of  affairs 
should  unduly  stimulate  the  imagination. 

There  was  set  before  them  honey  made  by  bees 
fed  only  upon  a  tropical  flower  of  rare  fragrance; 
cakes   flavoured   with  wine  that  had  been  long 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  69 

buried;  a  paste  of  cream,  thick  with  rich  nuts  and 
with  the  preserved  buds  of  certain  flowers;  and 
little  white  berries,  such  as  the  Japanese  call 
"pinedews";  there  was  a  tea  distilled  from  the 
roots  of  rare  exotics,  and  other  things  savoury 
and  fantastic.  So  potent  was  the  spell  of  the 
prince's  hospitality,  and  so  gracious  the  insist- 
ence with  which  he  set  before  them  the  strange 
and  odourous  dishes,  that  even  Olivia,  eager 
almost  to  tears  for  news  of  her  father,  and 
Mrs.  Hastings,  as  critical  and  suspicious  as  some 
beetle  with  long  antennae,  might  not  refuse  them. 
As  for  Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham,  although  this 
might  be  Cagliostro's  spagiric  food,  or  "  extract 
of  Saturn,"  for  aught  that  his  previous  experience 
equipped  him  to  deny,  yet  he  nibbled,  and  gazed, 
and  was  constrained  to  nibble  again. 

When  they  had  been  served,  Prince  Tabnit 
abruptly  began  speaking,  the  while  turning  the 
fine  stem  of  his  glass  in  his  delicate  fingers. 

"  You  do  not  know,"  he  said  simply,  "  where 
the  island  of  Yaque  lies?  " 

Mrs.  Hastings  sat  erect. 

"Yaque !  "  she  exclaimed.  "That  was  the  name 
of  the  place  where  your  father  was,  Olivia.  I 
know  I  remembered  it  because  it  wasn't  like  the 
man  What's-his-name  in  As  You  Like  It,  and 
because  it  didn't  begin  with  a  J." 

"  The  island  is  my  home,"  Prince  Tabnit  con- 
tinued, "  and  now,  for  the  first  time,  I  find  myself 


70  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

absent  from  it.  I  have  come  a  long  journey. 
It  is  many  miles  to  that  little  land  in  the  eastern 
seas,  that  exquisite  bit  of  the  world,  as  yet 
unknown  to  any  save  the  island-men.  We  have 
guarded  its  existence,  but  I  have  no  fear  to  tell 
you,  for  no  mariner,  unaided  by  an  islander, 
could  steer  a  course  to  its  coasts.  And  I  can  tell 
you  little  about  the  island  for  reasons  which,  if 
you  will  forgive  me,  you  would  hardly  under- 
stand. I  must  tell  you  something  of  it,  however, 
that  you  may  know  the  remarkable  conditions 
which  led  to  the  introduction  of  Mr.  Holland  to 
Yaque. 

"  The  island  of  Yaque,"  continued  the  prince, 
"  or  Arqua,  as  the  name  was  written  by  the 
ancient  Phoenicians,  has  been  ruled  by  hereditary 
monarchs  since  1050  B.  C,  when  it  was  settled." 

"  What  date  did  I  understand  you  to  say,  sir?" 
demanded  Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham. 

The  prince  smiled  faintl}^ 

"  I  am  well  aware,"  he  said,  "  that  to  the 
western  mind — indeed,  to  any  modem  mind  save 
our  own — I  shall  seem  to  be  speaking  in  mockery. 
None  the  less,  what  I  am  saying  is  exact.  It  is 
believed  that  the  enterprises  of  the  Phoenicians 
in  the  early  ages  took  them  but  a  short  distance, 
if  at  all,  beyond  the  confines  of  the  Mediterranean. 
It  is  merely  known  that,  in  the  period  of  v/Lich  I 
speak,  a  more  adventurous  spirit  began  to  be 
manifested,  and   the   Straits   of   Gibraltar   were 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  71 

passed  and  settlements  were  made  in  Iberia. 
But  how  far  these  adventurers  actually  penetrated 
has  been  recorded  only  in  those  documents  that 
are  in  the  hands  of  my  people — descendants 
of  the  boldest  of  these  mariners  who  pushed 
their  galleys  out  into  the  Atlantic.  At  this  time 
the  king  of  Tyre  was  Abibaal,  soon  to  be  suc- 
ceeded by  his  son  Hiram,  the  friend,  you  will 
remember,  of  King  David, " 

Mr.  Frothingham,  who  did  not  go  to  the 
theatre  for  fear  of  exciting  his  imagination, 
uttered  the  soft  non-explosion  which  should  have 
been  speech. 

"  King  Abibaal,"  continued  the  prince,  "  who 
maintained  his  court  in  great  pomp,  had  a 
younger  and  favourite  son  who  bore  his  own  name. 
He  was  a  wild  youth  of  great  daring,  and  upon  the 
accession  of  Hiram  to  the  throne  he  left  Tyre 
and  took  command  of  a  galley  of  adventuresome 
spirits,  who  were  among  the  first  to  pass  the  straits 
and  gain  the  open  sea.  The  story  of  their  wild 
voyage  I  need  not  detail;  it  is  enough  to  say  that 
their  trireme  was  wrecked  upon  the  coast  of 
Yaque;  and  Abibaal  and  those  who  joined  him — 
among  them  many  members  of  the  court  circle 
and  even  of  the  royal  famil} — settled  and  devel- 
oped the  island.  And  there  the  race  has 
remained  without  taint  of  admixture,  down  to 
the  present  day.  Of  what  was  wrought  on  the 
island  I  can  tell  you  little,  though  the  time  will 


72  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

come  when  the  eyes  of  the  whole  world  will  be 
turned  upon  Yaque  as  the  forerunner  of  mighty 
things.  Ruled  over  by  the  descendants  of  Abibaal, 
the  islanders  have  dwelt  in  peace  and  plenty  for 
nearly  three  thousand  years — until,  in  fact, 
less  than  a  year  ago.  Then  the  line  thus 
traceable  to  King  Hiram  himself  abruptly  ter- 
minated with  the  death  of  King  Chelbes,  without 
issue." 

Again  Mr.  Frothingham  attempted  to  speak, 
and  again  he  collapsed  softly,  without  expression, 
according  to  his  custom.  As  for  St.  George,  he 
was  remembering  how,  when  he  first  went  to  the 
paper,  he  had  invariably  been  sent  to  the  ante- 
room to  listen  to  the  daily  tales  of  invention, 
oppression  and  projects  for  which  a  continual 
procession  of  the  more  or  less  mentally  deficient 
wished  the  Sentinel  to  stand  sponsor,  St.  George 
remembered  in  particular  one  young  student  who 
soberly  claimed  to  have  invented  wireless  teleg- 
raphy and  who  molested  the  staff  for  months. 
Was  this  olive  prince,  he  wondered,  going  to 
prove  himself  worth  only  a  half -column  on  a  back 
page,  after  all? 

"  I  understand  you  to  say,"  said  St.  George, 
with  the  weary  self-restraint  of  one  who  deals 
with  lunatics,  "  that  the  line  of  King  Hiram,  the 
friend  of  King  David  of  Israel,  became  extinct 
less  than  a  year  ago?  " 

The  prince  smiled. 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  73 

"  Do  not  conceal  your  incredulity,"  he  said 
liberally,  "  for  I  forgive  it.  You  see,  then,"  he 
went  on  serenely,  "  how  in  Yaque  the  question  of 
the  succession  became  engrossing.  The  matter 
was  not  merely  one  of  ascendancy,  for  the 
Yaquians  are  singularly  free  from  ambition.  But 
their  pride  in  their  island  is  boundless.  They  see  in 
her  the  advance  guard  of  civilization,  the  peculiar 
people  to  whom  have  come  to  be  intrusted  many 
of  the  secrets  of  being.  For  I  should  tell  you  that 
my  people  live  a  life  that  is  utterly  beyond  the 
ken  of  all,  save  a  few  rare  minds  in  each  generation. 
My  people  live  what  others  dream  about,  what 
scientists  struggle  to  fathom,  what  the  keenest 
philosophers  and  economists  among  you  can  not 
formulate.  We  are,"  said  Prince  Tabnit  serenely, 
"  what  the  world  will  be  a  thousand  years  from 
now." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure,"  Mrs.  Hastings  broke  in 
plaintively,  "  that  I  hope  your  servant,  for 
instance,  is  not  a  sample  of  what  the  world  is 
coming  to!  " 

The  prince  smiled  indulgently,  as  if  a  child  had 
laid  a  little,  detaining  hand  upon  his  sleeve. 

*'  Be  that  as  it  may,"  he  said  evenly,  "  the 
throne  of  Yaque  was  still  empty.  Many  stood 
near  to  the  crown,  but  there  seemed  no  reason  for 
choosing  one  more  than  another.  One  party 
wished  to  name  the  head  of  the  House  of  the  Lit- 
any, in  Med,  the  King's  city,  who  was  the  chief 


74  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

administrator  of  justice.  Another,  more  demo- 
cratic than  these,  wished  to  elevate  to  the  throne 
a  man  from  whose  family  we  had  won  knowledge 
of  both  perpetual  motion  and  the  Fourth 
Dimension ' ' 

St.  George  smiled  angelically,  as  one  who 
resignedly  sees  the  last  fragments  of  a  shining 
hope  float  away.  This  quite  settled  it.  The 
olive  prince  was  crazy.  Did  not  St.  George 
remember  the  old  man  in  the  frayed  neckerchief 
and  bagging  pockets  who  had  brought  to  the 
office  of  the  Sentinel  chart  after  chart  about 
perpetual  motion,  until  St,  George  and  Amory 
had  one  day  told  him  gravely  that  they  had  a 
machine  inside  the  office  then  that  could  make 
more  things  go  for  ever  than  he  had  ever  dreamed 
of,  though  they  had  not  said  that  the  machine 
was  named  Chillingworth. 

"  You  have  knowledge  of  both  these  things?  '* 
asked  St.  George  indulgently. 

"  Yaque  understood  both  those  laws,"  said  the 
prince  quietly,  "when  William  the  Conqueror 
came  to  England." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment  and  then,  regardless 
of  another  soft  explosion  from  Mr.  Frothingham's 
lips,  he  added: 

"  Do  you  not  see?  Will  you  not  understand?  It 
is  our  knowledge  of  the  Fourth  Dimension  which 
has   enabled   us   to  keep   our   island  a   secret." 

St.  George  suddenly  thrilled  from  head  to  foot. 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  75 

What  if  he  were  speaking  the  truth?  What  if 
this  man  were  speaking  the  truth? 

"  Moreover,"  resumed  the  prince,  "  there  were 
those  among  us  who  had  long  believed  that  new 
strength  would  come  to  my  people  by  the  intro- 
duction of  an  inhabitant  of  one  of  the  continents. 
His  coming  would,  however,  necessitate  his 
sovereignty  among  us,  in  fulfilment  of  an 
ancient  Phoenician  law,  providing  that  the  state, 
and  every  satrapy  therein,  shall  receive  no  service, 
either  of  blood  or  of  bond,  nor  enter  into  the 
marriage  contract  with  an  alien;  from  which 
law  only  the  royal  house  is  exempt.  Thus  were 
the  two  needs  of  our  land  to  be  served  by  the 
means  to  which  we  had  recourse.  F"  '  there  being 
no  way  to  settle  the  difficulty,  we  \-owed  to  leave 
the  matter  to  Chance,  that  great  patient  arbiter 
of  destinies  of  which  your  civilization  takes  no 
account,  save  to  reduce  it  to  slavery.  Accord- 
ingly each  inhabitant  of  the  island  took  a  solemn 
oath  to  await,  with  an  open  mind  free  from  choice 
or  prejudice,  the  settlement  of  the  event,  certain 
that  the  gods  would  permit  the  possible.  Five 
days  after  this  decision  our  watchers  upon  the 
hills  sighted  a  South  African  transport  bound  for 
the  Azores  to  coal.  A  hundred  miles  from  our 
coast  she  was  wrecked,  and  it  was  thought  that 
all  on  board  had  been  lost.  A  submarine  was 
ordered  to  the  spot " 

"  Do     you     mean,"    interrupted    St.    George, 


76  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  that  you  were  able  to  see  the  wreck  at  th.at 
distance?  " 

"  Certainly,"  said  the  prince.  '*  Pray  forgive 
me,"  he  added  winningly,  "  if  I  seem  to  boast. 
It  is  difficult  for  me  to  believe  that  yoiu*  appliances 
are  so  immature.  We  were  using  steamship 
navigation  and  limiting  our  vision  at  the  time  of 
Pericles,  but  the  futility  of  these  was  among  our 
first  discoveries." 

Involuntarily  St.  George  turned  to  Miss  Holland. 
What  would  she  think,  he  found  himself  wonder- 
ing. Her  eyes  were  luminous  and  her  breath  was 
coming  quickly;  he  was  relieved  to  find  that  she 
had  not  the  infectious  vulgarity  to  doubt  the 
possibility  of  what  seemed  impossible.  This  was 
one  of  the  qualities  of  Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham, 
who  had  assumed  an  air  of  polite  interest  and  an 
accurately  cynical  smile,  and  the  manner  of 
generously  lending  his  professional  attention  to 
any  of  the  vagaries  of  the  client.  Mrs.  Hastings 
stirred  uneasily. 

"I'm  sure,"  she  said  fretfully,  "  that  I  must  be 
very  stupid,  but  I  simply  can  not  follow  you. 
Why,  you  talk  about  things  that  don't  exist! 
My  husband,  who  was  a  very  practical  and 
advanced  man,  would  have  shown  you  at  once 
that  what  you  say  is  impossible." 

Here  was  the  attitude  of  the  Common- 
place the  world  over,  thought  St.  George:  to 
believe  in  wireless  telegraphy  simply  because  it 


THE  PRINCE  OF  FAR-AWAY  77 

has  been  found  out,  and  to  disbelieve  in  the 
Fourth  Dimension  because  it  has  not  been. 

"  I  can  not  explain  these  things,"  admitted  the 
prince  gravely,  "  and  I  dare  say  that  you  could 
prove  that  they  do  not  exist,  just  as  a  man  from 
another  planet  could  show  us  to  his  own  satisfac- 
tion that  there  are  no  such  things  as  music  or 
colour/' 

"  Go  on,  please,"  said  Olivia  eagerly. 

**  Olivia,  I'm  sure,"  protested  Mrs.  Hastings, 
'*  I  think  it's  very  unwomanly  of  you  to  show 
such  an  interest  in  these  things." 

"  Will  you  bear  with  me  for  one  moment, 
Mrs.  Hastings?  "  begged  the  prince,  **  and  perhaps 
I  shall  be  able  to  interest  you.  The  submarine 
returned,  bringing  the  sole  survivor  of  the  wreck 
of  the  African  transport." 

"  Ah,  now,"  Mrs.  Hastings  assured  him  blandlv, 
"  you  are  dealing  with  things  that  can  happen. 
My  brother  Otho,  my  niece's  father,  was  just  this 
last  year  the  sole  survivor  of  the  wreck  of  a  very 
important  vessel." 

"  I  have  the  honour,  Mrs.  Hastings,  to  be 
narrating  to  you  the  circumstances  attending  the 
discovery  of  your  brother  and  Miss  Holland's 
father,   after  the  wreck  of  that  vessel." 

"  My  father?  "  cried  Olivia. 

The  prince  bowed. 

"  After  this  manner.  Chance  had  rewarded 
us.     We  crowned  your  father   King  of   Yaque." 


CHAPTER  V 

OLIVIA   PROPOSES 

Prince  Tabnit's  announcement  was  received 
by  his  guests  in  the  silence  of  amazement.  If 
they  had  been  told  that  Miss  Holland's  father 
was  secretly  acting  as  King  of  England  they 
could  have  been  no  more  profoundly  startled 
than  to  hear  stated  soberly  that  he  had  been  for 
nearly  a  year  the  king  of  a  cannibal  island.  For 
the  cannibal  phase  of  his  experience  seemed  a 
foregone  conclusion.  To  St.  George,  profoundly 
startled  and  most  incredulous,  the  possible  humour 
of  the  situation  made  first  appeal.  The  picture 
of  an  American  gentleman  seated  upon  a 
gold  throne  in  a  leopard-skin  coat,  ordering 
"  oysters  and  foes  "  for  breakfast,  was  irre- 
sistible. 

"  But  he  shaved  with  a  shell  when  he  chose, 
'Twas  the  manner  of  Primitive  Man  " 

floated  through  his  mind,  and  he  brought  himself 
up  sharply.  Clearly,  somebody  was  out  of  his 
head,  but  it  must  not  be  he. 

78 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  79 

"  What?  "  cried  Mrs.  Hastings  in  two  inelegant 
syllables,  on  the  second  of  which  her  uncon- 
trollable voice  rose,  "My brother  Otho,  a  vestry- 
man at  St.  Mark's " 

"  Aunt  Dora!  "  pleaded  Olivia.  "  Tell  us,"  she 
besought  the  prince. 

"  King  Otho  I  of  Yaque,"  the  prince  was  begin- 
ing,  but  the  title  was  not  to  be  calmly  received  by 
Mrs.  Hastings. 

"  King  Otho  \"  she  articulated.  "  Then— am 
I  royalty?  " 

"All  who  may  possibly  succeed  to  the  throne 
Blackstone  holds  to  be  royalty,"  said  the  lawyer 
in  an  edictal  voice,  and  St.  George  looked  away 
from  Olivia. 

The  Princess  Olivia  I 

"  King  Otho,"  continued  the  prince,  "  ruled 
wisely  and  well  for  seven  months,  and  it  was  at 
the  beginning  of  that  time  that  the  imperial 
submarine  was  sent  to  the  Azores  with  letters 
and  a  packet  to  you.  The  enterprise,  however, 
was  attended  by  so  great  danger  of  discovery  that 
it  was  never  repeated.  This  is  why,  for  so  long, 
you  have  had  no  word  from  the  king.  And  now 
I  come,"  said  the  prince  with  hesitation,  "  to  the 
difficult  part  of  my  narrr.tive." 

He  paused  and  Mr.  Frothingham  rushed  to  his 
assistance. 

"  As  the  family  solicitor,"  said  the  lawyer, 
pursing  his  lips,  and  waving  his  hands,  once,  from 


80  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  wrists,  "  would  you  not  better  divulge  to 
my  ear  alone,  the — a ** 

"No— no!"  flashed  Olivia.  "No,  Mr.  Froth, 
ingham — please. ' ' 

The  prince  inclined  his  head. 

"  Will  it  surprise  you,  Miss  Holland,"  he  said, 
*'  to  learn  that  I  made  my  voyage  to  this  country 
expressly  to  seek  you  out?  " 

"  To  seek  me?  "  exclaimed  Olivia.  "  But — ^has 
anything  happened  to  my  father?  " 

"  We  hope  not,"  replied  the  prince,  "  but  what 
I  have  to  tell  will  none  the  less  occasion  you 
anxiety.  Briefly,  Miss  Holland,  it  is  more  than 
three  months  since  your  father  suddenly  and 
mysteriously  disappeared  from  Yaque,  leaving 
absolutely  no  clue  to  his  whereabouts." 

A  little  cry  broke  from  Olivia's  lips  that  went  to 
St.  George's  heart.  Mrs.  Hastings,  with  a  gesture 
that  was  quite  wild  and  sent  her  bonnet  hope- 
lessly to  one  side,  burst  into  a  volley  of  exclama- 
tions and  demands. 

"Who  did  it?"  she  wailed.  "Who  did  it? 
Otho  is  a  gentleman.  He  would  never  have  the 
bad  taste  to  disappear,  like  all  those  dreadful 
people's  wives,  if  somebody  hadn't " 

"  My  dear  Madame,"  interposed  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham,  "  calm — calm  yourself.  There  are  families 
of  undisputed  position  which  record  disappear- 
ances in  several  generations." 

"  Please,"  pleaded  Olivia.  "Ah,  tell  us,"  she 
begged  the  prince  again. 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  81 

"There  is,  unfortunately,  but  little  to  tell, 
Miss  Holland,"  said  the  prince  with  sympathetic 
regret.  "  I  had  the  honour,  three  months  ago,  to 
entertain  the  king,  your  father,  at  dinner.  We 
parted  at  midnight.     His  Majesty  seemed " 

"  His  Majesty!  "  repeated  Mrs.  Hastings,  smil- 
ing up  at  the  opposite  wall  as  if  her  thought 
saw  glories. 

in  the  best  of  health  and  spirits,"  con- 
tinued the  prince.  "A  meeting  of  the  High 
Council  was  to  be  held  at  noon  on  the  following 
day.  The  king  did  not  appear.  From  that 
moment  no  eye  in  Yaque  has  fallen  upon  him." 

"  One  moment,  your  Highness,"  said  St.  George 
quickly;  "in  the  absence  of  the  king,  who  pre- 
sides over  the  High  Council?  " 

"  As  the  head  of  the  House  of  the  Litany,  the 
chief  administrator  of  justice,  it  is  I,"  said  the 
prince  with  humility. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  St.  George  said  evenly. 
^^  "  But   what   have   you    done?  "    cried    Olivia. 

"  Have  you  had  search  made?     Have  you " 

"Everything,"  the  prince  assured  her.  "The 
island  is  not  large.  Not  a  corner  of  it  remams 
unvisited.  The  people,  who  were  devoted  to  the 
kmg,  your  father,  have  sought  night  and  day. 
There  is,  it  is  hardly  right  to  conceal  from  you," 
the  prince  hesitated,  "a  circumstance  whidi 
makes  the  disappearance  the  more  alarming." 

"  Tell  us.  Keep  nothing  from  us,  I  beg,  Prince 
Tabnit."  besought  Olivia. 


82  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  For  centr.ries,"  said  the  prince  slowly,  "  there 
has  been  in  the  keeping  of  the  High  Council  of 
the  island  a  casket,  containing  what  is  known  as 
the  Hereditary  Treasure.  This  casket,  with  some 
of  the  finest  of  its  jewels,  was  left  by  King  Abibaal 
himself.  Since  his  time  every  king  of  the  island 
has  upon  his  death  bequeathed  to  the  casket 
the  finest  jewel  in  his  possession;  and  its  contents 
are  now  therefore  of  inestimable  value.  The  cir- 
cumstance to  which  I  refer  is  that  two  days  after 
the  disappearance  of  the  king,  your  father,  which 
spread  grief  and  alarm  through  all  Yaque,  it  was 
discovered  that  the  Hereditary  Treasure  was 
gone." 

"  Ck)ne!  "  burst  from  the  lips  of  the  prince's 
auditors. 

"As  utterly  as  if  the  Fifth  Dimension  had 
received  it,"  the  prince  gravely  assured  them. 
"  The  loss,  as  you  may  imagine,  is  a  grievous  one. 
The  High  Council  immediately  issued  a  procla- 
mation that  if  the  treasure  be  not  restored  by  a 
certain  date — now  barely  two  weeks  away — a 
heavy  tax  will  be  levied  upon  the  people  to  make 
good,  in  the  coin  of  the  realm,  this  incalculable 
loss.  Against  this  the  people,  though  they  are 
a  people  of  peace,  are  murmurous." 

"Indeed!"  cried  Mrs.  Hastings.  "Great  loy- 
alty it  is  that  sets  up  the  loss  of  their  trumpery 
treasure  over  and  above  the  loss  of  their  king,  my 
brother    Otho!      If,"    she    shrilled    indignantly, 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  83 

' '  we  are  not  unwise  to  listen  to  this  at  all.  What 
is  it  you  think?     What  is  it  your  people  think?" 

She  raised  her  head  until  she  had  framed  the 
prince  in  tortoise-shell.  Mrs.  Hastings  never  held 
her  head  quite  still.  It  continually  waved  about 
a  little,  so  that  usually,  even  in  peace,  it  intimated 
indignation;  and  when  actual  indignation  set  in, 
the  jet  on  her  bonnet  tinkled  and  ticked  like  so 
many  angry  sparrows. 

"  Madame,"  said  the  prince,  "  there  are  those 
among  his  Majesty's  subjects  who  would  willingly 
lay  down  their  lives  for  him.  But  he  is  a  stranger 
to  us — come  of  an  alien  race ;  and  the  double  dis- 
appearance is  a  most  tragic  occurrence,  which  the 
burden  of  the  tax  has  emphasized.  To  be  frank, 
were  his  Majesty  to  reappear  in  Yaque  without 
the  treasure  having  been  found " 

"  Oh!  "  breathed  Mrs.  Hastings,  "they  would 
kill  him!" 

The  prince  shuddered  and  set  his  white  teeth 
in  his  nether  lip, 

"The  gods  forbid,"  he  said.  "Such  primeval 
punishment  is  as  unknown  among  us  as  is  war 
itself.  How  little  you  know  my  people;  how 
pitifully  your  instincts  have  become — forgive 
me — corrupted  by  living  in  this  barbarous  age  of 
yours,  fumbling  as  you  do  at  civilization.  W^ith 
us  death  is  a  sacred  rite,  the  highest  tribute  and 
the  last  sacrifice  to  the  Absolute.  Our  dying  are 
carried  to  the  Temple  of  the  Worshipers  of  Dis- 


84  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

tance,  and  are  there  consecrated.  The  limit  of 
our  punishment  would  be  aerial  exposure " 

"  You  mean?"  cried  St.  George. 

"  I  mean  that  in  extreme  cases  we  have,  with 
due  rite  and  ceremonial,  given  a  victim  to  an  air- 
ship, without  ballast  or  rudder,  and  abundantly 
provisioned.  Then  with  solemn  ritual  we  have 
set  him  adrift — an  offering  to  the  great  spirits  of 
space — so  that  he  may  come  to  know.  This," 
the  prince  paused  in  emotion,  "  this  is  the  worst 
that  could  befall  your  father." 

"  How  horrible!  "  cried  Olivia.  "  Oh,  how 
horrible." 

"  Oh,"  Mrs.  Hastings  moaned,  "  he  was  born 
to  it.  He  was  bom  to  it.  When  he  was  six  he 
tied  kites  to  his  arms  and  jumped  out  the  window 
of  the  cupola  and  broke  his  collar  bone — oh, 
Otho, — oh  Heaven, — and  I  made  him  eat  oatmeal 
gruel  three  times  a  day  when  he  was  getting  well. ' ' 

"  Prince  Tabnit,"  said  St.  George,  "  I  beg  you 
not  to  jest  with  us.  Have  consideration  for  the 
two  to  whom  this  man  is  dear." 

"  I  am  speaking  truth  to  you,"  said  the  prince 
earnestly.  "  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  these  ladies, 
but  I  am  bound  in  honour  to  tell  you  what  I 
know." 

"  Ah  then,"  said  St.  George,  his  narrowed  eyes 
meeting  those  of  the  prince,  "  since  the  taking 
of  life  is  imknown  to  you  in  Yaque,  will  you 
explain  how  it  was  that  your  servant  adopted 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  85 

such  unerring  means  to  take  the  life  of  Miss 
Holland?    And  why?" 

**  My  servant,"  said  the  prince  readily,  "  belongs 
to  the  lahnas  or  former  serfs  of  the  island.  Upon 
her  people,  now  the  owners  of  rich  lands,  the  tax 
will  fall  heavily.  Crazed  by  what  she  considers 
her  people's  wrongs  following  upon  the  coming  of 
the  stranger  sovereign,  the  poor  creature  must 
have  developed  the  primitive  instincts  of  your 
race.  Before  coming  to  this  country  my  servant 
had  never  heard  of  murder  save  as  a  superseded 
custom  of  antiquity,  like  the  crucifying  of  lions. 
Her  discovery  of  your  daily  practice  of  murder, 
and  of  murder  practised  as  a  cure  for  crime " 

"  Sir,**  began  the  lawyer  imposingly. 

'* wakened  in  her  the  primitive  instincts  of 


humanity,  and  her  instinct  took  the  deplorable 
and  fanatic  form  of  your  own  courts,"  finished 
the  prince.  "  Her  bitterness  toward  his  Majesty 
she  sought  to  visit  upon  his  daughter." 

Olivia  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  I  must  go  to  my  father.  I  must  go  to  Yaque," 
she  cried  ringingly.  "  Prince  Tabnit,  will  you  take 
me  to  him?  " 

Into  the  prince's  face  leaped  a  fire  of  admiration 
for  her  beauty  and  her  daring.  He  bowed 
before  her,  his  lowered  lashes  making  thick 
shadows  on  his  dark  cheeks. 

*'  I  insist  upon  this,"  cried  little  Olivia  firmly, 
and  if  you  do  not  permit  it,  Prince  Tabnit,  we 


86  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

must  publish  what  you  have  told  us  from  one  end 
of  the  city  to  the  other." 

"Yes,  by  Jove,"  thought  St.  George,  "and 
one's  country  will  have  a  Yaque  exhibit  in  its 
own  department  at  the  next  world's  fair." 

"Olivia !    My  child !    Miss  Holland , ' '  began 

the  lawyer. 

The  prince  spoke  tranquilly. 

"It  is  precisely  this  errand,"  he  said,  "  that 
has  brought  me  to  America.  Do  you  not  see 
that,  in  the  event  of  your  father's  failure  to 
return  to  his  people,  you  will  eventually  be  Queen 
of  Yaque?" 

St.  George  found  himself  looking  fixedly  at  Mrs. 
Hastings'  false  front  as  the  only  reality  in  the 
room.  If  in  a  minute  Rollo  was  going  to  waken 
him  by  bringing  in  his  coffee,  he  was  going  to 
throttle  Rollo — ^that  was  all.  Olivia  Holland,  an 
American  heiress,  the  hereditary  princess  of  a 
cannibal  island!  St.  George  still  insisted  upon 
the  cannibal;  it  somehow  gave  him  a  foothold 
among  the  actualities. 

"I!"  cried  Olivia. 

Mrs.  Hastings,  brows  lifted,  lips  parted,  winked 
with  lightning  rapidity  in  an  effort  to  understand. 

St.  George  pulled  himself  together. 

"Your  Highness,"  he  said  sternly,  "there  are 
several  things  upon  which  I  must  ask  you  to 
enlighten  us.  And  the  first,  which  I  hope  you 
will  forgive,  is  whether  you  have  any  direct  proof 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  87 

that  what  you  tell  us  of  Miss  Holland's  father  is 
true." 

_"  That's  it!  That's  it!"  Mr.  Frothingham 
joined  him  with  all  the  importance  of  having  made 
the  suggestion.  "  We  can  hardly  proceed  m  due 
order  without  proofs,  sir." 

The  prince  turned  toward  the  curtain  at  the 
room's  end  and  the  youth  appeared  once  more, 
this  time  bearing  a  light  oval  casket  of  delicate " 
workmanship.  It  was  of  a  substance  resemb- 
ling both  glass  and  metal  of  changing,  rainbow 
tints,  and  it  passed  through  St.  George's  mind  as 
he  observed  it  that  there  must  be,  to  give  such 
a  dazzling  and  unreal  effect,  more  than  seven 
colours  in  the  spectrum. 

"A  spectrum  of  seven  colours,"  said  the  prince 
at  the  same  moment,  "could  not,  of  course,  produce 
this  surface.  I  confess  that  until  I  came  to 
this  country  I  did  not  know  that  you  had  so  few 
colours.  Our  spectrum  already  consists  of  twelve 
colours  visible  to  the  naked  eye,  and  at  least  five 
more  are  distinguishable  through  our  powerful 
magnifying  glasses." 

St.  George  was  silent.  It  was  as  if  he  had  sud- 
denly been  permitted  to  look  past  the  door  that 
bars  and  threatens  all  knowledge. 
^  The  prince  unlocked  the  casket.  He  drew  out 
first  a  quantity  of  paper  of  extreme  thinness  and 
lightness  on  which,  embossed  and  em.blazoned, 
was  the  coat  of  arms  of  the  Hollands— a  sheaf 


88  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

of  wheat  and  an  ilnicom's  head — and  this  was 
surmounted  by  a  crown. 

"  This,"  said  the  prince,  "  is  now  the  device 
upon  the  signet  ring  of  the  King  of  Yaque,  the 
arms  of  your  own  family.  And  here  chances  to 
be  a  letter  from  your  father  containing  some 
instructions  to  me.  It  is  true  that  writing  has 
with  us  been  superseded  by  wireless  commimi- 
cation,  excepting  where  there  is  need  of  great 
secrecy.  Then  we  employ  the  alphabet  of  any 
language  we  choose,  these  being  almost  disused, 
as  are  the  Cuneiform  and  Coptic  to  you." 

"  And  how  is  it,"  St.  George  could  not  resist 
asking,  "  that  you  know  and  speak  the  English?  " 

The  prince  smiled  swiftly. 

"  To  you,"  he  said,  "  who  delve  for  knowledge 
and  who  do  not  know  that  it  is  absolute  and  to  be 
possessed  at  will,  this  can  not  now  be  made  clear. 
Perhaps  some  day  ..." 

Olivia  had  taken  the  paper  from  the  prince  and 
pressed  it  to  her  lips,  her  eyes  filling  with  tears. 
There  was  no  mistaking  that  evidence,  for  this 
was  her  father's  familiar  hand. 

"  Otho  always  did  write  a  fearful  scrawl," 
Mrs.  Hastings  commented,  "  his  I's  and  his  t's 
and  his  vowels  were  all  the  same  height.  I  used 
to  tell  him  that  I  didn't  know  whatever  people 
would  think." 

"  I  may,  moreover,"  continued  the  prince,  "  call 
to  mind  several  articles  which  were  included  in  the 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  89 

packet  sent  from  the  Azores  by  his  Majesty.  You 
have,  for  example,  a  tapestry  representing  an  ibis 
hunt;  you  have  an  image  in  pink  sutro,  or  soft 
marble,  of  an  ancient  Phoenician  god — Melkarth. 
And  you  have  a  length  of  stained  glass  bearing 
the  figure  of  the  Tyrian  sphinx,  crucified,  and 
surrounded  by  coiled  asps." 

"  Yes,  it  is  true,"  said  Olivia,  "  we  have  all 
these  things." 

"  Why,  the  trash  must  be  quite  expensive," 
observed  Mrs.  Hastings.  "  I  don't  care  much  for 
so  many  colours  myself,  perhaps  because  I  always 
wear  black ;  though  I  did  wear  light  colours  a 
good  deal  when  I  was  a  girl." 

"  What  else,  Mr.  St.  George?  "  inquired  the 
prince  pleasantly. 

"  Nothing  else,"  cried  Olivia  passionately.  "  I 
am  satisfied.  My  father  is  in  danger,  and  I 
believe  that  he  is  in  Yaque,  for  he  would  never 
of  his  own  will  desert  a  place  of  trust.  I  must 
go  to  him.  And,  Aunt  Dora,  you  and  Mr. 
Frothingham  must  go  with  me." 

"  Oh,  Olivia!  "  wailed  Mrs.  Hastings,  a  different 
key  for  every  syllable,  "  think — consider!  Is  it 
the  necessary  thing  to  do?  And  what  would 
your  poor  dear  uncle  have  done?  And  is  there  a 
better  way  than  his  way?  For  I  always  say  that 
it  is  not  really  necessary  to  do  as  my  poor  dear 
husband  would  have  done,  providing  only  that 
we  can  find  a  better  way.     Oh,"  she  mourned. 


90  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

lifting  her  hands,  "  that  this  frightful  thing 
should  come  to  me  at  my  age.  Otho  may  be 
married  to  a  cannibal  princess,  with  his  sons 
catching  wild  goats  by  the  hair  like  Tennyson 
and  the  whistling  parrots " 

"  Madame,"  said  the  prince  coldly,  "  forgets 
what  I  have  been  saying  of  my  country." 

"I  do  not  forget,"  declared  Mrs.  Hastings 
sharply,  "  but  being  behind  civilization  and  being 
ahead  of  civilization  comes  to  the  same  thing 
more  than  once.     In  morals  it  does." 

St.  George  was  silent.  Olivia's  splendid  daring 
in  her  passionate  decision  to  go  to  her  father 
stirred  him  powerfully;  moreover,  her  words 
outlined  a  possible  course  of  his  own  whose  magni- 
tude startled  him,  and  at  the  same  time  filled  him 
with  a  sudden,  dazzling  hope. 

"  But  where  is  your  island,  Prince  Tabnit?  " 
he  asked.  "  You've  naturally  no  consul  there 
and  no  cable,  since  you  are  not  even  on  the 
map." 

"  Yaque,"  said  the  prince  readily,  "  lies  almost 
due  southwest  from  the  Azores." 

Mr.  Frothingham  stirred  skeptically. 

"  But  such  an  island,"  he  said  pompously,  "  so 
rich  in  material  for  the  arcliseologist,  the  anthro- 
pologist, the  explorer  in  all  fields  of  antiquity — 
ah,  it  is  out  of  the  question,  out  of  the  question!  " 

"It  is  difficult,"  said  the  prince  patiently, 
*'  most  difficult  for  me  to  make  myself  intelligible 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  01 

to  you— as  difficult,  if  you  will  forgive  me,  as  if 
you  were  to  try  to  explain  calculus  to  one  of  the 
street  boys  outside.  But  directly  your  phase  of 
civilization  has  opened  to  you  the  secrets  of  the 
Fourth  Dimension,  much  will  be  discovered  to 
you  which  you  do  not  now  discern  or  dream,  and 
among  these,  Yaque.  I  do  not  jest,"  he  added 
wearily,  "  neither  do  I  expect  you  to  believe  me. 
But  I  have  told  you  the  truth.  And  it  would  be 
impossible  for  you  to  reach  Yaque  save  in  the 
company  of  one  of  the  islanders  to  whom  the 
secret  is  known.  I  can  not  explain  to  you,  any 
more  than  I  can  explain  harmony  or  colour." 

"  Well,  I'm  sure,"  cried  Mrs.  Hastings  fret- 
fully, "  I  don't  know  why  you  all  keep  wan- 
dering from  the  subject  so.       Now,  my  brother 

Otho " 

"  Prince  Tabnit," — Olivia's  voice  never  seemed 
to  interrupt,  but  rather  to  "  divide  evidence 
finely  "  at  the  proper  moment — "  how  long  will 
it  take  us  to  reach  Yaque?  " 

St.  George  thrilled  at  that  "us." 
"  My    submarine,"    replied     the     prince,    "  is 
plying  about  outside  the  harbour.     I  arrived  in 
four  days." 

"By  the  way,"  St.  George  submitted,  "since 
your  wireless  system  is  perfected,  why  can  not 
we  have  news  of  your  island  from  here?  " 

"The  curve  of  the  earth,"  explained  the  prince 
readily,    "  prevents.     We    have    conquered    only 


92  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

those  problems  with  which  we  have  had  to  deal. 
The  curve  of  the  earth  has  of  course  never 
entered  our  calculation.  We  have  approached 
the  problem  from  another  standpoint." 

"  We  have  much  to  do,  Prince  Tabnit,"  said 
Olivia;    "when  may  we  leave?  " 

"  Command  me,"  said  Prince  Tabnit,  bowing. 

"  To-morrow!  "  cried  Olivia,  "  to-morrow,  at 
noon." 

"Olivia!  "  Mrs.  Hastings'  voice  broke  over 
the  name  like  ice  upon  a  warm  promontory. 
Mrs.  Hastings'  voice  was  suited  to  say  "  Keziah  " 
or  "  Katinka,"  not  Olivia. 

"  Can  you  go,  Mr.  Frothingham?  "  demanded 
Olivia. 

Mr.  Frothingham 's  long  hands  hung  down  and 
he  looked  as  if  she  had  proposed  a  jaunt  to  Mars. 

"  My  physician  has  ordered  a  sea-change,"  he 
mumbled  doubtfully,  ' '  my  daughter  Antoinette — 
I — ^really — there  is  nothing  in  all  my  experience — " 

"  Olivia!  "  Mrs.  Hastings  in  tears  was  super- 
intending the  search  for  both  side-combs. 

"  Aunt  Dora,"  said  Olivia,  "  you're  not  going 
to  fail  me  now.  Prince  Tabnit — at  noon  to-mor- 
row.    Where  shall  we  meet  ?  " 

St.  George  listened,  glov/ing. 

"  May  I  have  the  honour,"  suggested  the 
prince,  "  of  waiting  upon  you  at  noon  to  conduct 
you?  And  I  need  hardly  say  that  we  under- 
take the  journey  under  oath  of  secrecy?  " 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  93 

"  Anything — anything!  "  cried  Olivia. 

"  Oh,  my  dear  Olivia,"  breathed  Mrs.  Hastings 
weakly,  "  taking  me,  at  my  age,  into  this  awful 
place  of  Four  Dimentias — or  whatever  it  was 
you  said." 

**  We  will  be  ready  to  go  with  you  at  noon," 
said  Olivia  steadily. 

St.  George  held  his  peace  as  they  made  their 
adieux,  A  great  many  things  remained  to  be 
thought  out,   but  one  was  clear  enough. 

The  boy  servant  ran  before  them  to  the  door. 
They  made  their  way  to  the  street  in  the  early 
dusk.  A  hurdy-gurdy  on  the  curb  was  bubbling 
over  with  merry  discords,  and  was  flanked  by 
garrulous  ItaUans  with  push-carts,  lighted  by 
flaring  torches.  Men  were  returning  from  work, 
children  were  quarreling,  women  were  in  door- 
ways, and  a  policeman  was  gossiping  with  the 
footman  in  a  knot  of  watching  idlers.  With  a 
sigh  that  was  like  a  groan,  Mrs.  Hastings  sank 
back  on  the  cushions  of  the  brougham, 

"  I  feel,"  she  said,  eyes  closed,  "  as  if  I  had  been 
in  a  pagan  temple  where  they  worship  oracles  and 
what's-his-names.  What  time  is  it?  I  haven't 
an  idea.  Dear,  dear,  I  want  to  get  home  and  feel 
as  if  my  feet  were  on  land  and  water  again.  I 
want  some  strong  sleep  and  a  good  sound  cup  of 
coffee,  and  then  I  shall  know  what's  actually 
what." 

To  St.  George  the  slow  drive  up  town  was  no 


94  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

less  unreal  than  their  visit.  His  head  was  whirling, 
a  hundred  plans  and  speculations  filled  his  mind, 
and  through  these  Mrs  Hastings'  chatter  of  fore- 
bodings and  the  lawyer's  patterned  utterance 
hardly  found  their  way.  At  his  own  street  he 
was  set  down,  with  Mrs.  Hastings'  permission  to 
call  next  day. 

Miss  Holland  gave  him  her  hand. 

"  I  can  not  thank  you,"  she  said,  *'  I  can  not 
thank  you.  But  try  to  know,  won't  you,  what 
this  has  been  to  me.     Until  to-morrow." 

Until  to-morrow.  St.  George  stood  in  the 
brightness  of  the  street  looking  after  the  vanishing 
carriage,  his  hand  tingling  from  her  touch.  Then 
he  went  up  to  his  apartment  and  met  Rollo — 
sleek,  deferential,  the  acme  of  the  polite  barbarism 
in  which  the  prince  had  made  St.  George  feel 
that  he  and  his  world  were  living.  Ah,  he 
thought,  as  Rollo  took  his  hat,  this  was  no  way 
to  live,  with  the  whole  world  singing  to  be  dis- 
covered anew. 

He  sat  down  before  the  trim  little  white  table 
with  its  pretty  china  and  silver  and  its  one  rose- 
shaded  candle,  but  the  doubtful  content  of  com- 
fort was  suddenly  not  enough.  The  spirit  of 
the  road  and  of  the  chase  was  in  his  veins,  and 
he  was  aglow  with  "  the  taste  for  pilgriming." 
He  looked  about  on  the  simple  luxury  with  which 
he  had  surrounded  himself,  and  he  welcomed  his 
farewell  to  it.    And  when  Rollo  had  gone  up  stairs 


OLIVIA  PROPOSES  95 

to  complain  in  person  of  the  shad-roe,  St.  George 
spoke  aloud  : 

"  If  Miss  Holland  sails  for  Yaque  to-morrow  on 
the  prince's  submarine,"  he  said,  "  The  Aloha 
and  I  will  follow  her." 


CHAPTER  VI 

TWO  I^lTTlvE  MEN 

Next  morning  St.  George  was  early  astir.  He 
had  slept  little  and  his  dreams  had  been 
grotesques.  He  threw  up  his  blind  and  looked 
across  buildings  to  the  grey  park.  The  sky  was 
marked  with  rose,  the  still  reservoir  gave  back 
colour  upon  its  breast,  and  the  tower  upon  its 
margin  might  have  been  some  guttural-christened 
castle  on  the  Rhine.  St.  George  drew  a  deep 
breath  of  good,  new  air  and  smiled  for  the  sake  of 
the  things  that  the  day  was  to  bring  him.  He 
was  in  the  golden  age  when  the  youthful  expecta- 
tion of  enjoyment  is  just  beginning  to  be  savoured 
by  the  inevitable  longing  for  more  light,  and  he 
seemed  to  himself  to  be  alluringly  near  the  verge 
of  both. 

His  first  care  the  evening  before  had  been  to 
hunt  out  Chillingworth.  He  had  found  him  in  a 
theatre  and  had  got  him  out  to  the  foyer  and  kept 
him  through  the  third  act,  pouring  in  his  ears  as 
much  as  he  felt  that  it  was  well  for  him  to  know. 
Chillingworth    had    drawn     his     square,    brown 

96 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  97 

hands  through  his  hair  and,  in  lieu  of  copy-paper, 
had  nibbled  away  his  programme  and  paced  the 
corner  by  the  cloak-room. 

"  It  looks  like  a  great  big  thing,"  said  the  city 
editor;  "  don't  you  think  it  looks  like  a  great  big 
thing?  " 

"  Extraordinarily  so,"  assented  St.  George, 
watching  him. 

"  Can  you  handle  it  alone,  do  you  think?  " 
Chillingworth  demanded. 

"  Ah,  well  now,  that  depends,"  replied  St. 
George.  "  I'll  see  it  through,  if  it  takes  me  to 
Yaque.  But  I'd  like  you  to  promise,  Mr.  Chilling- 
worth,  that  you  won't  turn  Crass  loose  at  it  while 
I'm  gone,  with  his  feverish  head-lines.  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  her  niece  must  be  spared  that,  at 
all  events." 

"  Don't  you  be  a  sentimental  idiot,"  snapped 
Chillingworth,  "  and  spoil  the  biggest  city  story 
the  paper  ever  had.  Why,  this  may  draw  the 
whole  United  States  into  a  row,  and  mean  war 
and  a  new  possession  and  maybe  consulates  and 
governorships  and  one  thing  or  another  for  the 
whole  staff.  St,  George,  don't  spoil  the  sport. 
Remember,  I'm  dropsical  and  nobody  can  tell 
what  may  happen.  By  the  way,  where  did  you 
say  this  prince  man  is?  " 

"  Ah,  I  didn't  say,"  St.  George  had  answered 
quietly.  "  If  you'll  forgive  me,  I  don't  think  I 
shall  say." 


98  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Oh,  you  don't,"  ejaculated  Chillingworth. 
"  Well,  you  please  be  around  at  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning." 

St.  George  watched  him  walking  sidewise  down 
the  aisle  as  he  always  walked  when  he  was 
excited.  Chillingworth  was  a  good  sort  at  heart, 
too;  but  given,  as  the  bishop  had  once  said  of 
some  one  else,  to  spending  right  royally  a  deal  of 
sagacity  under  the  obvious  impression  that  this 
is  the  only  wisdom. 

At  his  desk  next  morning  Chillingworth  gave 
to  St.  George  a  note  from  Amory,  who  had  been 
at  Long  Branch  with  The  Aloha  when  the  letter 
was  posted  and  was  coming  up  that  noon  to  put 
ashore  Bennietod. 

"  May  Cawthorne  have  his  day  off  to-morrow 
and  go  with  me?  "  the  letter  ended.  "I'll  call  up 
at  noon  to  find  out." 

"Yah!"  growled  Chillingworth,  "it's  break- 
ing up  the  whole  staff,  that's  what  it's  doin'. 
You'll  all  want  cut-glass  typewriters  next." 

"If  I  should  sail  to-day,"  observed  St.  George, 
quite  as  if  he  were  boarding  a  Sound  steamer, 
"I'd  like  to  take  on  at  least  two  men.  And  I'd 
like  Amory  and  Cawthorne.  You  could  hardly 
go  yourself,  could  you,  Mr.  Chillingworth?  " 

"  No,  I  couldn't,"  growled  Chillingworth,  "  I've 
got  to  keep  my  tastes  down.  And  I've  got  to 
save  up  to  buy  kid  gloves  for  the  staff.  I/Ook 
here "  he  added,  and  hesitated. 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  99 

"  Yes?  "  St.  George  complied  in  some  surprise. 

"  Bennietod's  half  sick  anyway,"  said  Chilling- 
worth,  "  he's  thin  as  water,  and  if  you  would 
care " 

"  By  all  means  then,  "  St.  George  assented  heart- 
ily, "  I  would  care  immensely.  Bennietod  sick  is 
like  somebody  else  healthy.  Will  you  mind  getting 
Amory  on  the  wire  when  he  calls  up,  and  tell  him 
to  show  up  without  fail  at  my  place  at  noon 
to-day?     And  to  wait  there  for  me." 

Little  Cawthorne,  with  a  pair  of  shears  quite  a 
yard  long,  was  sitting  at  his  desk  clipping  jokes  for 
the  fiction  page.  He  was  humming  a  weary  little 
tune  to  the  effect  that  "  Billy  Enny  took  a  penny 
but  now  he  hadn't  many — Lookie  They!  "  with 
wliich  he  whiled  away  the  hours  of  his  gravest 
toil,  coming  out  strongly  on  the  "  Lookie  They!  " 
until  Benfy  on  the  floor  above  pounded  for  quiet 
which  he  never  got. 

"  Cawthorne,"  said  St.  George,  "  it  may  be 
that  I'm  leaving  to-night  on  the  yacht  for  an  island 
out  in  the  southeast.  And  the  chief  says  that 
you  and  Amory  are  to  go  along.     Can  you  go?" 

Little  Cawthorne 's  blue  eyes  met  St.  George's 
steadily  for  a  moment,  and  without  changing  his 
gaze  he  reached  for  his  hat. 

"  I   can  get  the  page   done  in  an   hour,"   he 
promised,  "and  I  can  pack  my  thirty  gents  in  ten 
minutes.     Will  that  do?  " 
St.  George  laughed. 


100  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

'*Ah,  well  now,  this  goes,"  he  said.  "Ask 
Chillingworth.     Don't  tell  any  one  else." 

"  'Billy  Enny  took  a  penny,'  "  hummed  Little 
Cawthorne  in  perfect  tranquillity. 

St.  George  set  off  at  once  for  the  McDougle 
Street  house.  A  thousand  doubts  beset  him  and 
he  felt  that  if  he  could  once  more  be  face  to  face 
with  the  amazing  prince  these  might  be  better 
cleared  away.  Moreover,  the  glimpses  which  the 
prince  had  given  him  of  a  world  which  seemed 
to  lie  as  definitely  outside  the  bourne  of  present 
knowledge  as  does  death  itself  filled  St.  George 
with  unrest,  spiced  his  incredulity  with  wonder, 
and  he  found  himself  longing  to  talk  more  of  the 
things  at  which  the  strange  man  had  hinted. 

The  squalor  of  the  street  was  even  less  bearable 
in  the  early  morning.  St.  George  wondered,  as 
he  hurried  across  from  the  Grand  Street  station, 
how  the  prince  had  understood  that  he  must  not 
only  avoid  the  great  hotels,  but  that  he  must 
actually  seek  out  incredible  surroundings  like 
these  to  be  certain  of  privacy.  For  only  the  very 
poor  are  sufficiently  immersed  in  their  own  affairs 
to  be  guiltless  of  curiosity,  save  indeed  a  kind  of 
surface  morbid  wonderment  at  crepe  upon  a  door 
or  the  coming  of  a  well-dressed  woman  to  their 
neighbourhood.  The  prince  might  have  lived  in 
McDougle  Street  for  years  without  exciting  more 
than  derisive  comment  of  the  denizens,  derision 
being  no  other  than  their  humour  gone  astray. 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  101 

St.  George  tapped  at  the  door  which  the  night 
before  had  admitted  him  to  such  revelation. 
There  was  no  answer,  and  a  repeated  summons 
brought  no  sound  from  within.  At  length  he 
tentatively  touched  the  latch.  The  door  opened. 
The  room  was  quite  empty.  No  remnant  of 
furniture  remained. 

He  entered,  involuntarily  peering  about  as  if 
he  expected  to  find  the  prince  in  a  dusty  comer. 
The  windows  were  still  shuttered,  and  he  threw 
open  the  blinds,  admitting  rectangles  of  sunlight. 
He  could  have  found  it  in  his  heart,  as  he  looked 
blankly  at  the  four  walls,  to  doubt  that  he  had 
been  there  at  all  the  night  before,  so  emphatically 
did  the  surroundings  deny  that  they  had  ever 
harboured  a  title.  But  on  the  floor  at  his  feet 
lay  a  scrap  of  paper,  twisted  and  torn.  He  picked 
it  up.  It  was  traced  in  indistinguishable  charac- 
ters, but  it  bore  the  Holland  coat  of  arms  and 
crown  which  the  prince  had  shown  them. 
St.  George  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket  and 
questioned  a  group  of  boys  in  the  passage. 

"  Yup,"  shouted  one  of  the  boys  with  that 
prodigality  of  intonation  distinguishing  the  child 
of  the  streets,  who  makes  every  statement  as  if 
his  word  had  just  been  contradicted  out  of  hand, 
"  he  means  de  bloke  wid  de  black  block.  Aw, 
he  lef  early  dis  mornin'  wid  's  junk  follerin.' 
Dey's  two  of  'em.  Wet's  he  t'ink?  Dis  ain't  no 
Nigger's  Rest.     Dis  yere's  all  Eyetalian." 


102  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

St.  George  hurried  to  Fifty-nmth  Street.  It 
was  not  yet  ten  o'clock,  but  the  departure  of 
the  prince  made  him  vaguely  uneasy  and  for 
his  life  he  could  not  have  waited  longer.  Perhaps 
it  was  not  true  at  all;  perhaps  none  of  it  had 
happened.  The  McDougle  Street  part  had  van- 
ished; what  if  the  Boris  too  were  a  myth?  But 
as  he  sprang  up  the  steps  at  the  apartment 
house  St.  George  knew  better.  The  night  before 
her  hand  had  lain  in  his  for  an  infinitesimal  time, 
and  she  had  said  "  Until  to-morrow." 

On  sending  his  name  to  Mrs.  Hastings  he 
was  immediately  bidden  to  her  apartment.  He 
found  the  drawing-room  in  confusion — the  furni- 
ture covered  with  linen,  the  bric-d-brac  gone,  and 
three  steamer  trunks  strapped  and  standing  out- 
side the  door.  All  of  which  mattered  to  him  less 
than  nothing,  for  Olivia  was  there  alone. 

She  came  down  the  dismantled  room  to  meet 
him,  smiling  a  little  and  very  pale  but,  St.  George 
thought,  even  more  beautiful  than  she  had  been 
the  day  before.  She  was  dressed  for  walking 
and  had  on  a  sober  little  hat,  and  straightway 
St.  George  secretly  wondered  how  he  could  ever 
have  approved  of  anything  so  flagrant  as  a 
Gainsborough.  She  lifted  her  veil  as  they  sat 
down,  and  St.  George  liked  that.  To  complete 
his  capitulation  she  turned  to  a  little  table  set 
before  the  bowing  flames  of  juniper  branches  in 
the  gratf 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  103 

"This   is   breakfast,"    she    told    him;    "won't 

you   have   a   cup   of  tea   and   a   muffin?    Aunt 

Medora  will  be  back  presently  from  the  chemist's." 

For   the    first    time    St.    George   blessed    Mrs. 

Hastings. 

"  You  are  really  leaving  to-day,  Miss  Holland?" 
he  asked,  noting  the  little  ringless  hand  that 
gave  him  two  lumps. 

"  Really    leaving,"    she    assented,    "  at    noon 
to-day.     Mr.  Frothingham  sails  with  us,  and  his 
daughter  Antoinette,  who  will  be  a  great   com- 
fort to  me.     The  prince  doesn't  know  about  her 
yet,"  she  added  naively,  "  but  he  must  take  her." 
St.  George  nodded  approvingly.    Unless  all  signs 
failed,  he  reflected,  Yaque  had  some  surprises  in 
store  at  the  hands  of  the  daughter  of  its  sovereign. 
"  Where  does  the  prince  appoint?  "  he  asked. 
He  listened  in  entire  disapproval  while  she  told 
him  of  the  place  below  quarantine  where  they 
were   to   board    the   submarine.     The    prince,    it 
appeared,  had  sent  his  servant  early  that  morning 
to  assure  them  that  all  was  in  readiness,  a  bit  of 
oriental  courtesy  which  made  no  impression  upon 
St.  George,  though  it  explained  the  prompt  with- 
drawal from  19  McDougle  Street.    When  she  had 
finished,   St.  George    rose   and   stood  before   the 
fire,    looking    down    at    her    from    a    world    of 
uncertainty. 

'*  I  don't  like  it.  Miss  Holland,"  he  declared, 
and  hesitated,  divided  between  the  desire  to  tell 


104  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

her  that  he  was  going  too,  and  the  fear  lest  Mrs, 
Hastings  should  arrive  from  the  chemist's. 

Olivia  made  a  gesture  of  throwing  it  all  from 
her. 

"Have  a  muffin — do,"  she  begged.  "This  is 
my  last  breakfast  in  America  for  a  time — 
let  me  have  a  pleasant  memory  of  it.  Mr.  St. 
George,  I  want — oh,  I  want  to  tell  you  how  greatly 
I  appreciate " 

"  Ah,  please,"  urged  St.  George,  and  smiled 
while  he  protested,  "  you  see,  I've  been  very 
selfish  about  the  whole  matter.  I'm  selfish  now 
to  be  here  at  all  when,  I  dare  say,  you've  no 
end  of  things  to  do." 

"  No,"  Olivia  disclaimed,  "  I  have  not,"  and 
thus  proved  that  she  was  a  woman  of  genius.  For 
a  less  complex  woman  always  flutters  through 
the  hour  of  her  departure.  Only  Juno  can  step 
from  the  clouds  without  packing  a  bag  and  feeding 
the  peacocks  and  leaving,  pinned  to  an  asphodel, 
a  note  for  Jupiter. 

"  Then  tell  me  what  you  are  going  to  do  in 
Yaque,"  he  besought.  "  Forgive  me — what  are 
you  going  to  do  all  alone  there  in  that  strange 
land,  and  such  a  land?  " 

He  divined  that  at  this  she  would  be  very  brave 
and  buoyant,  and  he  was  lost  in  anticipative 
admiration;  when  she  was  neither  he  admired 
more  than  ever. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Olivia  gravely,  "  I  only 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  105 

know  that  I  must  go.  You  see  that,  do  you  not — 
that  I  must  go?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  St.  George  assured  her,  "  I  do 
indeed,  believe  me.  Don't  you  think,"  he  said, 
"  that  I  might  give  you  a  lamp  to  rub  if  you 
need  help?     And  then  I'll  appear." 

"  In  Yaque?  " 

He  nodded  gravely. 

"  Yes,  in  Yaque.  I  shall  rise  out  of  a  jar  like 
the  Evil  Genie ;  and  though  I  shall  be  quite  help- 
less you  will  still  have  the  lamp.  And  I  shall  be 
no  end  glad  to  have  appeared." 

"  But  suppose,"  said  Olivia  merrily,  "  that 
when  I  have  eaten  a  pomegranate  or  a  potato 
or  something  in  Yaque  I  forget  all  about  America? 
And  when  you  step  out  of  the  jar  I  say  '  Off 
with  his  head,'  by  mistake.  How  shall  I  know 
it  is  you  when  the  jar  is  opened?  " 

"  I  shall  ask  you  what  the  population  of  Yaque 
is,"  he  assured  her,  "  and  how  the  island  compares 
with  Manhattan,  and  if  this  is  your  first  visit, 
and  how  you  are  enjoying  your  stay;  and  then 
you  will  recognize  the  talk  of  civilization  and 
spare  me." 

"No,"  she  protested,  "  I've  longed  to  say  *  Off 
with  his  head '  to  too  many  people  who  have  said 
all  that  to  me.  And  you  mustn't  say  that  a 
holiday  always  seems  like  Sunday,  either." 

Whereat  they  both  laughed,  and  it  seemed  an 
uncommonly  pleasant  world,  and  even  the  sad 


106  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

errand  that  was  taking  Olivia  to  Yaque  looked 
like  a  hope. 

Then  the  talk  ran  on  pleasantly,  and  things 
went  very  briskly  forward,  and  there  was  no 
dearth  of  fleet  little  smiles  at  this  and  that. 
What  was  she  to  bring  him  from  Yaque — a  pet 
ibis?  No,  he  had  no  taste  for  ibises — unless 
indeed  there  should  be  Fourth-Dimension  ibises; 
and  even  then  he  begged  that  she  would  select 
instead  a  magic  field -glass,  with  which  one  might 
see  what  is  happening  at  an  infinite  distance; 
although  of  what  use  would  that  be  to  him,  he 
wanted  to  know,  since  it  would  be  his  too  late  to 
follow  her  errantry  through  Yaque?  They  felt, 
as  they  talked,  quite  like  the  puppets  of  the  days 
of  Haroun-al-Raschid ;  only  the  puppets,  poor 
children  of  mere  magic,  had  not  the  traditions 
of  the  golden  age  of  science  for  a  setting,  and 
were  obliged  to  content  themselves  with  mere 
tricks  of  jars  of  genii  instead  of  applied  electricity 
and  its  daring.  What  an  Arabian  Nights'  Enter- 
tainment we  might  have  had  if  only  Scheherazade 
had  ever  heard  of  the  Present !  As  for  the  thoasand- 
and-one-nights,  they  would  not  have  contained 
all  her  invention.  No  wonder  that  the  time  went 
trippingly  for  the  two  who  were  concerned  in  such 
bewildering  speculation  as  the  prince  had  made 
possible  and  who  were  furthering  acquaintance- 
ship besides. 

"Ah,  well  now,  at  all  events,"  begged  St.  George 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  107 

at  length,  "  will  you  remember  something  while 
you  are  away  ? ' ' 

"  Your  kindness,  always,"  she  returned. 

"  But  will  you  remember,"  said  St.  George 
with  his  boy's  eagerness,  "  that  there  is  some  one 
who  hopes  no  less  than  you  for  your  success,  and 
who  will  be  infinitely  proud  of  any  command 
at  all  from  you?  And  will  you  remember  that, 
though  I  may  not  be  successful,  I  shall  at  least 
be  doing  something  to  try  to  help  you?  " 

"  You  are  very  good,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  shall 
remember.  For  already  you  have  not  only 
helped  me— you  have  made  the  whole  matter 
possible." 

"  And  what  of  that,"  propounded  St.  George 
gloomily,  "if  I  can't  help  you  just  when  the 
danger  begins?  I  insist,  Miss  Holland,  that  it 
takes  far  more  good  nature  to  see  some  one  else 
set  off  at  adventure  than  it  takes  to  go  one's  self. 
Won't  you  let  me  come  back  here  at  twelve 
o'clock  and  go  down  with  you  to  the  boat?  " 

"  By  all  means,"  Olivia  assented,  "  my  aunt 
and  I  shall  both  be  glad,  Mr.  St.  George.  Then 
you  can  wish  us  well.  WTiat  is  a  submarine  like," 
she  wanted  to  know;  "  were  you  ever  on  one?  " 

"  Never,  excepting  a  number  of  times,"  replied 
St.  George,  supremely  unconscious  of  any  vague- 
ness. He  was  rapidly  losing  count  of  all  events 
up  to  the  present.  He  was  concerned  only  with 
these  things:    that  she  was  here  with  him,  that 


108  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  time  might  be  measured  by  minutes  until  she 
would  be  caught  away  to  undergo  neither  knew 
what  perils,  and  that  at  any  minute  Mrs.  Hastings 
might  escape  from  the  chemist's. 

Although  the  commonplace  is  no  respecter 
of  enchantments,  it  was  quite  fifteen  minutes 
before  the  sword  fell  and  Mrs.  Hastings  did  make 
the  moment  her  prey,  as  pinkly  excited  as  though 
her  drawing-room  had  been  untenanted.  And 
in  the  meantime  no  one  knows  what  pleasantly 
absurd  thing  St.  George  longed  to  say,  it  is  so 
perilous  when  one  is  sailing  away  to  Yaque  and 
another  stands  upon  the  shore  for  a  word  of  fare- 
well. But,  indeed,  if  it  were  not  for  the  soberest 
moments  of  farewell,  journeys  and  their  returns 
would  become  very  tame  affairs.  When  the  first 
man  and  maid  said  even  the  most  formal  farewell, 
providing  they  were  the  right  man  and  the  right 
maid,  the  very  stars  must  have  begun  their 
motion.  Very  likely  the  fixed  stars  are  nothing 
but  grey-beards  with  no  imagination.  Distance 
lends  enchantment,  but  the  frivolous  might  say 
that  the  preliminary  farewell  is  the  mint  that 
coins  it.  And,  enchantment  being  independ- 
ent of  the  commonplace,  after  all,  it  may  have 
been  that  certain  stars  had  already  begun  to  sing 
while  St.  George  sat  staring  at  the  little  bowing 
flames  of  the  juniper  branches  and  Olivia  was 
taking  her  tea.  Then  in  came  Mrs.  Hastings, 
a  very  literal  interfering  goddess,  and  her  bonnet 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  109 

was  frightfully  awry  so  that  the  parrot  upon  it 
looked  shockingly  coquettish  and  irreverent  and 
lent  to  her  dignity  a  flavour  of  ill-timed  wag- 
gishness.  But  it  must  be  admitted  that  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  everything  that  she  wore  were  *'les 
antipodes  des  graces."  She  was  followed  by  a 
footman,  his  arms  filled  with  parcels,  and  she 
sank  among  them  on  the  divan  and  held  out 
her  limp,  plump  hand  for  a  cup  of  tea.  Mrs. 
Hastings  had  the  hands  that  are  fettered  by 
little  creases  at  the  wrists  and  whose  wedding 
rings  always  seem  to  be  uncomfortably  snug. 
She  sat  down,  and  her  former  activity  dis- 
solved, as  it  were,  into  another  sort  of  energy 
and  became  fragments  of  talk.  Mrs.  Hastings 
was  like  the  old  woman  in  Ovid  who  sacrificed 
to  the  goddess  of  silence,  but  could  never  keep 
still;  save  that  Mrs.  Hastings  did  not  sacrifice. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  St.  George,"  she  said. 
"I'm  sure  I've  quite  forgotten  everything.  Olivia 
dear,  I've  had  all  the  prescriptions  made  up  that 
I've  ever  taken  to  Rutledge's,  because  no  one  can 
tell  what  the  climate  will  be  like,  it's  so  low  on  the 
map.  I've  looked  up  the  Azores — that's  where 
we  get  some  of  our  choicest  cheese.  And  camphor 
— I've  got  a  pound  of  camphor.  And  I  must 
say  positively  that  I  always  was  against  these 
wars  in  the  far  East,  because  all  the  camphor 
comes  from  Korea  or  one  of  those  ft-ightful  islands 
and  now  it  has  gone  up  twenty-six  cents  a  pound. 


110  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

And  then  the  flaxseed,  OH  via  dear.  I've  got  a 
tin  of  flaxseed,  for  no  one  can  tell " 

St.  George  doubted  if  she  knew  when  he  said 
good  morning,  although  she  named  him  Mr. 
St.  John,  gave  him  permission  to  go  to  the  boat, 
hoped  in  one  breath  that  he  would  come  again  to 
see  them,  and  in  the  next  that  he  would  send  them 
a  copy  of  whatever  the  Sentinel  might  publish 
about  them,  in  serene  oblivion  of  the  state  of 
the  post-office  department  in  Yaque.  Mrs.  Hast- 
ings, in  short,  was  one  of  the  women  who  are 
thrown  into  violent  mental  convulsions  by  the 
prospect  of  a  journey;  this  was  not  at  all  because 
she  was  setting  sail  specifically  for  Yaque,  for  the 
moment  that  she  saw  a  porter  or  a  pier,  though 
she  was  bound  only  for  the  Bronx  or  Staten 
Island,  she  was  affected  in  the  same  way. 

As  Olivia  gave  St.  George  her  hand  he  came 
perilously  near  telling  her  that  he  would  foUow 
her  to  Yaque;  but  he  reflected  that  if  he  were  to 
tell  her  at  all,  he  would  better  do  so  on  the  way  to 
the  submarine.  So  he  went  blindly  down  the 
hall  and  rang  the  elevator  bell  for  so  long  that 
the  boy  deliberately  stopped  on  the  floor  below 
and  waited,  with  the  diabolical  independence  of 
the  American  lords  of  the  lift,  "  for  to  teach  'im 
a  lessing,"  this  one  explained  to  a  passing  cham- 
ber-maid. 

St.  George  hturied  to  his  apartment  to  leave  a 
note  for  Amory  who  was  directed  upon  his  arrival 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  111 

to  bide  there  and  await  his  host's  return.  Then 
he  paced  the  floor  until  it  was  time  to  go  back  to 
the  Boris,  deaf  to  Rollo's  solemn  information  that 
the  dust  comes  up  out  of  the  varnish  of  furni- 
ture during  the  night,  like  cream  out  of  milk. 
By  the  time  he  had  boarded  a  down-town  car, 
St,  George  had  tortured  himself  to  distraction, 
and  his  own  responsibility  in  this  submarine 
voyage  loomed  large  and  threatening.  Therefore, 
it  suddenly  assumed  the  proportion  of  mountains 
yet  unseen  when,  though  it  wanted  ten  minutes 
to  twelve  when  he  reached  the  Boris,  his  card  was 
returned  by  a  faint  polite  clerk  with  the  informa- 
tion that  Mrs.  Hastings  and  Miss  Holland  had 
been  gone  from  the  hotel  for  half  an  hour.  There 
was  a  note  for  him  in  their  box  the  clerk  believed, 
and  presently  produced  it — a  brief,  regretful 
word  from  Olivia  telling  him  that  the  prince  had 
found  that  they  must  leave  fully  an  hour  earlier 
than  he  had  planned. 

Sick  with  apprehension,  cursing  himself  for 
the  ease  and  dexterity  with  which  he  had  per- 
mitted himself  to  be  outwitted  by  Tabnit,  St. 
George  turned  blindly  from  the  office  with  some 
vague  idea  of  chartering  all  the  tugs  in  the  harbour. 
It  came  to  him  that  he  had  bungled  the  matter 
from  first  to  last,  and  that  Bud  or  Bennietod 
would  have  used  greater  shrewdness.  And  while 
he  was  in  the  midst  of  anathematizing  his  char- 
acteristic   confidence    he    stepped    in    the    outer 


112  ROIIANCE  ISLAND 

hallway  and  saw  that  which  caused  that  con- 
fidence to  balloon  smilingly  back  to  support  him. 

In  the  vestibule  of  the  Boris,  deaf  to  the  hover- 
ing attention  of  a  door-boy  more  curious  than 
dutiful,  stood  two  men  of  the  stature  and  com- 
plexion of  Prince  Tabnit  of  Yaque.  They  were 
dressed  like  the  youth  who  had  answered  the 
door  of  the  prince's  apartment,  and  they  were 
speaking  softly  with  many  gestures  and  evidently 
in  some  perplexity.  The  drooping  spirits  of 
St.  George  soared  to  Heaven  as  he  hastened  to 
them. 

"  You  are  asking  for  Miss  Holland,  the  daughter 
of  King  Otho  of  Yaque,"  he  said,  with  no  time 
to  smile  at  the  pranks  of  the  democracy  with 
hereditary  titles. 

The  men  stared  and  spoke  almost  together. 

"  We  are,"  they  said  promptly. 

"  She  is  not  here,"  explained  St.  George,  "  but 
I  have  attended  to  some  affairs  for  her.  Will 
you  come  with  me  to  my  apartment  where  we 
may  be  alone?  " 

The  men,  who  somehow  made  St.  George  think 
of  tan-coloured  greyhounds  with  very  gentle  eyes, 
consulted  each  other,  not  with  the  suspicion  of 
the  vulgar  but  with  the  caution  of  the  thorough- 
bred. 

"  Pardon,"  said  one,  "  if  we  may  be  quite 
assured  that  this  is  Miss  Holland's  friend  to  whom 
we  speak " 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  113 

St.    George  hesitated.      The  hall-boy  listened 
with   an   air  of  polite   concern,  and   there   were 
curious  over-shoulder  glances  from  the  passers-by. 
Suddenly  St.  George's  face  lighted  and  he  went 
swiftly  through  his  pockets  and  produced  a  scrap 
of  paper— the  fragment  that  had  lain  that  morn- 
ing on  the  floor  of  the  prince's  deserted  apartment, 
and  that  bore  the  arms  of  the  King  of  Yaque. 
It  was  the  strangers'  turn  to  regard  him  with 
amazement.     Immediately,  to  St.  George's  utmost 
embarrassment,  they  both  bowed  very  low  and 
pronounced  together: 
"  Pardon,  ad6n!" 

"  My  name  is  St.  George,"  he  assured  them, 
"  and  let's  get  into  a  cab." 

They  followed  him  without  demur. 
St.  George  leaned  back  on  the  cushions  and 
looked  at  them — lean  lithe  little  men  with  rapid 
eyes  and  supple  bodies  and  great  repose.  They 
gave  him  the  same  sense  of  strangeness  that  he 
had  felt  in  the  presence  of  the  prince  and  of  the 
woman  in  the  Bitley  Reformatory— as  if,  it 
whimsically  flashed  to  him,  they  some  way  rhymed 
with  a  word  which  he  did  not  know. 

"  What  is  it,"  St.  George  asked  as  they  rolled 
away,  "  what  is  it  that  you  have  come  to  tell 
Miss  Holland?  " 

Only  one  of  the  men  spoke,  the  other  appear- 
ing content  to  show  two  rows  of  exceptionally 
white  teeth. 


114  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

**  May  we  not  know,  ad6n,"  asked  the  man 
respectfully,  "  whether  the  prince  has  given  her 
his  news?  And  if  the  prince  is  still  in  your 
land?" 

'*  The  prince's  servant,  Elissa,  has  tried  to 
stab  Miss  Holland  and  has  got  herself  locked 
up,"  St.   George  imparted  without  hesitation. 

An  exclamation  of  horror  broke  from  both 
men. 

"  To  stab— to  kill!  "  they  cried. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  St.  George,  "  and  the  prince, 
upon  being  discovered,  disclosed  some  very  impor- 
tant news  to  Miss  Holland,  and  she  and  her 
friends  started  an  hour  ago  for  Yaque." 

"That  is  well,  that  is  well!"  cried  the  little 
man,  nodding,  and  momentarily  hesitated;  "but 
yet  his  news — what  news,  ad6n,  has  he  told 
her?  " 

For  a  moment  St.  George  regarded  them  both 
in  silence. 

"  Ah,  well  now,  what  news  had  he?  "  he  asked 
briefly. 

The  men  answered  readily. 

"  Prince  Tabnit  was  commissioned,  by  the 
Yaquians  to  acquaint  the  princess  with  the  news 
of  the  strange  disappearance  of  her  father,  the 
king,  and  to  supplicate  her  in  his  place  to  accept 
the  hereditary  throne  of  Yaque." 

"  Jupiter!  "  said  St.  George  under  breath. 

In  a  flash  the  whole  matter  was  clear  to  him. 


TWO  LITTLE  MEN  115 

Prince  Tabnit  had  delivered  no  such  message 
from  the  people  of  Yaque,  but  had  contented 
himself  with  the  mere  intimation  that  in  some 
vanishing  future  she  would  be  expected  to 
ascend  the  throne.  And  he  had  done  this 
only  when  Olivia  herself  had  sought  him  out 
after  an  attempt  had  been  made  upon  her  life 
by  his  servant.  It  seemed  to  St.  George  far 
from  improbable  that  the  woman  had  been  acting 
under  the  prince's  instructions  and,  that  failing, 
he  himself  had  appeared  and  obligingly  placea 
the  daughter  of  King  Otho  precisely  within  the 
prince's  power.  Now  she  was  gone  with  him, 
in  the  hope  of  aiding  her  father,  to  meet  Heaven 
knew  what  peril  in  this  pagan  island;  and  he, 
St.  George,  was  wholly  to  blame  from  first  to 
last. 

"  Good  Heavens,"  he  groaned,  "  are  you  sure — 
but  are  you  sure?  " 

"  It  is  simple,  ad6n,"  said  the  man,  "  we  came 
with  this  message  from  the  people  of  Yaque. 
A  day  before  we  were  to  land,  Akko  and  I — I  am 
Jarvo — overheard  the  prince  plan  with  the  others 
to  tell  her  nothing — nothing  that  the  people 
desire.  When  they  knew  that  we  had  heard 
they  locked  us  up  and  we  have  only  this  morning 
escaped  from  the  submarine.  If  the  prince  has 
told  her  this  message  everything  is  well.  But 
as  for  us,  I  do  not  know.  The  prince  has 
gone." 


116  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  He  told  her  nothing — ^nothing,"  said  St. 
George,  "  but  that  her  father  and  the  Hereditary- 
Treasure  have  disappeared.  And  he  has  taken 
her  with  him.     She  has  gone  with  him." 

Deaf  alike  to  their  exclamations  and  their 
questions  St.  George  sat  staring  unseeingly  through 
the  window,  his  mind  an  abyss  of  fear.  Then  the 
cab  drew  up  at  the  door  of  his  hotel  and  he 
turned  upon  the  two  men  precipitantly. 

"  See,"  he  cried,  "  in  a  boat  on  the  open  sea, 
would  you  two  be  at  all  able  to  direct  a  course 
to  Yaque?  " 

Both  men  smiled  suddenly  and  brilliantly. 

"  But  we  have  stolen  a  chart,"  annoimced  Jarvo 
with  great  simplicity,  "  not  knowing  what  thing 
might  befall." 

St.  George  wrenched  at  the  handle  of  the  cab 
door.  He  had  a  glimpse  of  Amory  within,  just 
ringing  the  elevator  bell,  and  he  bundled  the 
two  little  men  into  the  lobby  and  dashed  up 
to  him. 

"Come  on,  old  Amory,"  he  told  him  exultingly. 
"  Heaven  on  earth,  put  out  that  pipe  and  pack. 
We  leave  for  Yaque  to-night  1 " 


CHAPTER  Vn 

DUSK,  AND  SO  ON" 

Dusk  on  the  tropic  seas  h  a  ceremony  per- 
formed with  reverence,  as  if  the  rising  moon  were 
a  priestess  come  among  her  silver  vessels.  Shad- 
ows like  phantom  sails  dip  through  the  dark  and 
lie  idle  where  unseen  crafts  with  unexplained 
cargoes  weigh  anchor  in  mid-air.  One  almost 
hears  the  water  cunningly  lap  upon  their  invisible 
sides. 

To  Little  Cawthome,  lying  luxuriously  in  a 
hammock  on  the  deck  of  The  Aloha,  fancies  like 
these  crowded  pleasantly,  and  slipped  away  or 
were  merged  in  snatches  of  remembered  songs. 
His  hands  were  clasped  behind  his  head,  one  foot 
was  tapping  the  deck  to  keep  the  hammock  in 
motion  while  strange  compounds  of  tune  and 
time  broke  aimlessly  from  his  lips. 

"  Meet  me  by  moonlight  alone. 
And  then  I  will  tell  you  a  tale. 
Must  be  told  in  the  moonlight  alone 
In  the  grove  at  the  end  of  the  vale" 

he  caroled  contentedly. 

117 


118  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Amory,  the  light  of  his  pipe  cheerfully  glowing, 
lay  at  full  length  in  a  steamer  chair.  The  Aloha 
was  bounding  briskly  forward,  a  solitary  speck 
on  the  bosom  of  darkening  purple,  and  the  men 
sitting  in  the  companionship  of  silence,  which  all 
the  world  praises  and  seldom  attains,  had  been 
engaging  in  that  most  entertaining  of  pastimes, 
the  comparison  of  present  comfort  with  past  toil. 
Little  Cawthorne's  satisfaction  flowered  in  speech. 

"  Two  weeks  ago  to-night,"  he  said,  running  his 
hands  through  his  grey  curls,  "  I  took  the  night 
desk  when  Ellis  was  knocked  out.  And  two  weeks 
ago  to-morrow  morning  we  were  the  only  paper  to 
be  beaten  on  the  Fownes  will  story.     Hi — you." 

"  Happy,  Cawthorne?  "  Amory  removed  his 
pipe  to  inquire  with  idle  indulgence. 

"  Am  I  happy?  "  affirmed  Little  Cawthorne 
ecstatically  in  four  tones,  and  went  on  with  his 
song: 

"The  daylight  may  do  for  the  gay, 
The  thoughtless,  the  heartless,  the  free, 
But  there's  something  about  the  moon's  ray 
That  is  sweeter  to  you  and  to  me." 

"  Did  you  make  that  up?  "  inquired  Amory 
with  polite  interest. 

'*  I  did  if  I  want  to,"  responded  Little  Cawthorne. 
"  Everything's  true  out  here — go  on,  tell  every- 
thing you  like.     I'U  believe  you." 

St.  George  came  out  of  the  dark  and  leaned  on 
the  rail  without  speaking.     Sometimes  he  won- 


UUSK,  AND  SO  ON  119 

dered  if  he  were  he  at  all,  and  he  liked  the  doubt. 
He  felt  pleasantly  as  if  he  had  been  cut  loose  from 
all  old  conditions  and  were  sailing  between  skies 
to  some  unknown  planet.  This  was  not  only 
because  of  the  strange  waters  rushing  underfoot 
but  because  of  the  flowering  and  singing  of  some- 
thing within  him  that  made  the  world  into  which 
he  was  sailing  an  alien  place,  heavenly  desirable. 
A  week  ago  that  day  The  Aloha  had  weighed 
anchor,  and  these  seven  days,  in  fairly  fortunate 
weather,  her  white  nose  had  been  cleaving  seas 
to  traverse  which  had  so  long  been  her  owner's 
dream;  and  yet  her  owner,  in  pleasant  apostasy, 
had  turned  his  back  upon  the  whole  matter  of 
what  he  had  been  used  to  dream,  and  now  ungrate- 
fully spent  his  time  in  trying  to  count  the  hours  to 
his  journey's  end. 

Somewhere  out  yonder,  he  reflected,  as  he  leaned 
on  the  rail,  this  southern  moonlight  was  flooding 
whatever  scene  she  looked  on;  the  lapping  of  the 
same  sea  was  in  her  ears;  and  his  future  and  hers 
might  be  dependent  upon  those  two  perplexed 
tan-coloured  greyhounds  below.  By  which  one 
would  have  said  that  matters  had  been  going 
briskly  forward  with  St.  George  since  the  morning 
that  he  had  breakfasted  with  Olivia  Holland. 

Exactly  when  the  end  of  the  journey  would  be 
was  not  evident  either  to  him  or  to  the  two 
strange  creatures  who  proposed  to  be  his  guides. 
Or  rather  to  Jarvo,  who  was  still  the  spokesman; 


120  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

lean  little  Akko,  although  his  intelligence  was 
unrivaled,  being  content  with  monosyllables  for 
stepping-stones  while  the  stream  of  Jarvo's  soft 
speech  flowed  about  him.  Bamay,  the  captain, 
frankly  distrusted  them  both,  and  confided  to 
St.  George  that  "  them  two  little  jool-eyed  salts 
was  limbs  av  the  old  gint  himself,  and  they 
reminded  him,  Bamay,  of  a  pair  of  haythen 
naygurs,"  than  which  he  could  say  no  more. 
But  then,  Bamay 's  wholesale  skepticism  was  his 
only  recreation,  save  talking  about  his  pretty 
daughter  "  of  school  age,"  and  he  liked  to  stand 
tucking  his  beard  inside  his  collar  and  indulging 
in  both.  In  truth,  Barnay,  who  knew  the  waters, 
of  the  Atlantic  fairly  well,  was  sorely  tried  to  take 
orders  from  the  two  little  brown  strangers  who, 
he  averred,  consulted  a  "  haythen  apparaytus  " 
which  they  would  cheerfully  let  him  see  but  of 
which  he  could  "  make  no  more  than  av  the  spach 
av  a  fish,"  and  then  directed  him  to  take  courses 
which  lay  far  outside  the  beaten  tracks  of  the 
high  seas. 

St.  George,  who  had  had  several  talks  with 
them,  was  puzzled  and  doubtful,  and  more  than 
once  confided  to  himself  that  the  lives  of  the 
passenger  list  of  The  Aloha  might  be  worth  no 
more  than  coral  headstones  at  the  bottom  of  the 
South  Atlantic.  But  he  always  consoled  himself 
with  the  cheering  reflection  that  he  had  had  to 
come — ^there  was  no  other  way  half  so  good.     So 


DUSK,  AND  SO  ON  121 

The  Aloha  continued  to  plow  her  way  as  serenely 
as  if  she  were  heading  toward  the  white  cliffs 
of  Dover  and  trim  villas  and  a  custom-house. 
And  the  sea  lay  a  blue,  uninhabited  glory  save 
as  land  that  Barnay  knew  about  marked  low 
blades  of  smoke  on  the  horizon  and  slipped  back 
into  blue  sheaths. 

This  was  the  evening  of  the  seventh  day,  and 
that  noon  Jarvo  had  looked  despondent,  and 
Barnay  had  sworn  strange  oaths,  and  St. 
George  had  been  disquieted.  He  stood  up  now, 
going  vaguely  down  into  his  coat  pockets  for  his 
pipe,  his  erect  figure  thrown  in  relief  against 
the  hurrying  purple.  St.  George  was  good  to  look 
at,  and  Amory,  with  the  moonlight  catching 
the  glass  of  his  pince-nez,  smoked  and  watched 
him,  shrewdly  pondering  upon  exactly  how 
much  anxiety  for  the  success  of  the  enterprise 
was  occupying  the  breast  of  his  friend  and  how 
much  of  an  emotion  a  good  bit  stronger. 
Amory  himself  was  not  in  love,  but  there 
existed  between  him  and  all  who  were  a 
special  kinship,  like  that  between  a  lover  of 
music  and  a  musician. 

Little  Cawthorne  rose  and  shuffled  his  feet 
lazily  across  deck. 

"  Where  is  that  island,  anyway?  "  he  wanted 
to  know,  gazing  meditatively  out  to  sea. 

St.  George  turned  as  if  the  interruption  was 
grateful. 


122  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

••  The  island.  I  don't  see  any  island,"  com- 
plained Little  Cawlhome.  "  I  tell  you,"  he  con- 
fided, "  I  guess  it's  just  Chillingworth's  little  way 
of  fixing  up  a  nice  long  vacation  for  us." 

They  smiled  at  memory  of  Chillingworth*s  grudg- 
ing and  snarling  assents  to  even  an  hour  off  duty. 

From  below  came  Bennietod,  walking  slowly. 
The  seaman's  life  was  not  for  Bennietod,  and  he 
yearned  to  reach  land  as  fervently  as  did  St. 
George,  though  with  other  anxiety.  He  sat 
down  on  the  moon-lit  deck  and  his  face  was  like 
that  of  a  little  old  man  with  uncanny  shrewdness. 
His  week  among  them  had  wrought  changes  in 
the  head  office  boy.  For  Bennietod  was  ambi- 
tious to  be  a  gentleman.  His  covert  imitations 
had  always  amused  St,  George  and  Amory. 
Now  in  the  comparative  freedom  of  TJie  Aloha 
his  fancy  had  rein  and  he  had  adopted  all  the 
habits  and  the  phrases  which  he  had  long  reserved 
and  liked  best,  mixing  them  with  scraps  of  allu- 
sions to  things  which  Benfy  had  encouraged  him 
to  read,  and  presenting  the  whole  in  his  native 
lower  East-side  dialect.  Bennietod  was  Bowery- 
bom  and  office-bred,  and  this  sad  metropolitanism 
almost  made  of  him  a  good  philosopher. 

"I'd  like  immensely  to  say  something," 
observed  St.  George  abruptly,  when  his  pipe  was 
lighted. 

*'  Oh,  yes.  All  right,"  shrilled  Little  Cawthome 
with  resignation,  "  I   suppose  you  all  feel   I'm 


DUSK,  AND  SO  ON  123 

the  Jonah  and  you  thirst  to  scatter  me  to  the 
whales." 

"  I  want  to  know,"  St.  George  went  on  slowly, 
"  what  you  think.  On  my  life,  I  doubt  if  I 
thought  at  all  when  we  set  out.  This  all  promised 
good  sport,  and  I  took  it  at  that.  Lately,  I've 
been  wondering,  now  and  then,  whether  any  of 
you  wish  yourselves  well  out  of  it." 

For  a  moment  no  one  spoke.     To  shrink  from 
expression  is  a  characteristic  in  which  the  extremes 
of  cultivation  and  mediocrity  meet;  the  reserve 
of  delicacy  in  St.  George  and  Amory  would  have 
been  a  reserve  of  false  shame  in  Bennietod,  and 
of  an  exaggerated  sense  of  humour  in  Little  Caw- 
thome.      It  was  not  remarkable   that  from  the 
moment  the  enterprise  had  been  entered  upon, 
its  perils  and  its  doubtful  outcome  had  not  once 
been  discussed.    St.  George  vaguely  reckoned  with 
this  as  he  waited,  while  Amory  smoked  on  and 
blew  meditative  clouds  and   regarded  the  bowl 
of   his   pipe,    and   Little   Cawthome   ceased    the 
motion  of  his  hammock,  and  Bennietod  hugged 
his  knees  and  looked  shrewdly  at  the  moon,  as 
if  he  knew  more  about  the  moon  than  he  would 
care  to  tell.     St.    George  felt   his  heart  sink  a 
little.     Then  Little  Cawthome  rose  and  squared 
valiantly  up  to  him. 

"  What,"  inquired  the  little  man  indignantly, 
"  are  you  trying  to  do?     Pick  a  fight?  " 
St.  George  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 


124  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Because  if  you  are,"  continued  Little  Caw- 
thome  without  preamble,  '*  we're  three  to  one. 
And  three  of  us  are  going  to  Yaque.  Well  put 
you  ashore  if  you  say  so." 

St.  George  smiled  at  him  gratefully. 

"  No — Bennietod?  "  inquired  Little  Cawthome. 

Bennietod,  pale  and  manifestly  weak,  grinned 
cheerfully  and  fumbled  in  sudden  abashment  at 
an  amazing  checked  Ascot  which  he  had  derived 
from  unknown  sources. 

"  Bes'  t'ing  fever  I  met  up  wid,"  he  assented, 
"  ef  de  deck'd  lay  down  levil.  I'm  de  sonny  of 
a  sea-horse  if  it  ain't." 

"  Amory?  "  demanded  the  little  man. 

Amory  looked  along  his  pipe  and  took  it 
briefly  from  his  lips  and  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  say  these  things,"  he  pleaded  in  his 
pleasant  drawl,  "  or  I'll  swear  something  horrid." 

St.  George  merely  held  his  pipe  by  the  bowl 
and  nodded  a  little,  but  the  hearts  of  all  of  them 
glowed. 

After  dinner  they  sat  long  on  deck.  RoUo,  at 
his  master's  invitation,  joined  them  with  a  man- 
dolin, which  he  had  been  discovered  to  play  con- 
siderably better  than  any  one  else  on  board. 
Rollo  sat  bolt  upright  in  a  reclining  chair  to  prove 
that  he  did  not  forget  his  station  and  strummed 
softly,   and   acknowledged    approval  with: 

"  Yes,  sir.  A  little  music  adds  an  air  to  any 
occasion,  /  always  think,  sir." 


DUSK,  AND  SO  ON  125 

The  moon  was  not  yet  full,  but  its  light  in  that 
warm  world  was  brilliant.  The  air  was  drowsy 
and  scented  with  something  that  might  have  been 
its  own  honey  or  that  might  have  come  from  the 
strange  blooms,  water-sealed  below.  Now  and 
then  St.  George  went  aside  for  a  space  and  walked 
up  and  down  the  deck  or  sent  below  for  Jarvo. 
Once,  as  Jarvo  left  St.  George's  side.  Little  Caw- 
thome  awoke  and  sat  upright  and  inquiring,  in  his 
hammock. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  his  feet?  "  he 
inquired  peevishly.  "  I  shall  certainly  ask  him 
directly." 

"  It's  the  seventh  day  out,"  Amory  observed, 
"  and  still  nobody  knows." 

For  Jarvo  and  Akko  had  another  distinction 
besides  their  diminutive  stature  and  greyhound 
build.  Their  feet,  clad  in  soft  soleless  shoes, 
made  of  skins,  were  long  and  pointed  and  of 
almost  uncanny  flexibility.  It  had  become  impos- 
sible for  any  one  to  look  at  either  of  the  little  men 
without  letting  his  eyes  wander  to  their  curi- 
ously expressive  feet,  which,  like  "  courtier 
speech,"  were  expressive  without  revealing 
anything. 

"  I  t'ink,"  Bennietod  gave  out,  "  dat  dey're 
lost  Eyetalian  organ-grinder  monkeys,  wid  huming 
intelligence,  like  Bertran's  Bimi." 

"  What  a  suspicious  child  it  is,"  yawned  Little 
Cawthome,  and   went   to   sleep    again.     Toward 


126  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

midnight  he  awoke,  refreshed  and  happy,  and 
broke  into  instant  song: 

"  The  daylight  may  do  for  the  gay, 
The  thoughtless,  the  heartless,  the  free, 
But  there's  something  about  the  moon's  ray — " 

he  was  chanting  in  perfect  tonelessness,  when 
St.  George  cried  out.  The  others  sprang  to  their 
feet. 

"  Lights!  "  said  St.  George,  and  gave  the  glass 
to  Amory,  his  hand  trembling,  and  very  nearly 
snatched  it  back  again. 

Far  to  the  southeast,  faint  as  the  lost  Pleiad, 
a  single  golden  point  pricked  the  haze,  danced, 
glimmered,  was  lost,  and  reappeared  to  their 
eager  eyes.  The  impossibility  of  it  all,  the 
impossibility  of  believing  that  they  could  have 
sighted  the  lights  of  an  island  hanging  there  in  the 
waste  and  hitherto  known  to  nobody  simply 
"because  nobody  knew  the  truth  about  the  Fourth 
Dimension  did  not  assail  them.  So  absorbed  had 
St.  George  become  in  the  undertaking,  so  con- 
vincing had  been  the  events  that  led  up  to  it,  and 
so  ready  for  anything  in  any  dimension  were  his 
companions,  that  their  excitement  was  simply  the 
ancient  excitement  of  lights  to  the  mariner  and 
nothing  more;  save  indeed  that  to  St.  George  they 
spoke  a  certain  language  sweeter  than  the  language 
of  any  island  lying  in  the  heart  of  mere  science  or 
jmere  magic  either. 


DUSK,  AND  SO  ON  127 

When  it  became  evident  that  the  lights  were  no 
will-o'-the-wisps,  born  of  the  moon  and  the  void, 
but  the  veritable  lights  that  shine  upon  harbours, 
Bennietod  tumbled  below  for  Jarvo,  who  came  on 
deck  and  gazed  and  doubted  and  well-nigh  wept 
for  joy  and  poured  forth  strange  words  and  called 
aloud  for  Akko.  Akko  came  and  nodded  and 
showed  white  teeth. 

"  To-morrow,"  he  said  only. 

Barnay  came. 

"  Fwhat  matther?"  He  put  it  cynically,  scowl- 
ing critically  at  Jarvo  and  Akko.  "  All  in  the 
way  av  fair  fight,  that'll  be  about  Mor-rocco,  if 
I've  the  full  av  my  wits  about  me,  an'  music  to 
my  eyes,  by  the  same  token." 

Jarvo  fixed  him  with  his  impenetrable  look. 

"It  is  the  light  of  the  king's  palace  on  the 
summit  of  Mount  Khalak,"  he  announced  simply. 

The  light  of  the  king's  palace.  St.  George 
heard  and  thrilled  with  thanksgiving.  It  would  be 
then  the  light  at  her  very  threshold,  provided 
the  impossible  is  possible,  as  scientists  and 
devotees  have  every  reason  to  think.  But  was  she 
there — was  she  there?  If  there  was  an  oracle  for 
the  answer,  it  was  not  St.  George.  The  little 
white  stars  danced  and  signaled  faintly  on  the  far 
horizon.  Whatever  they  had  to  reveal  was  for 
nearer  eyes  than  his. 

The  glass  passed  from  hand  to  hand,  and  in 
turn  they  all  swept  the  low  sky  where  the  faint 


128  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

points  burned;  but  when  some  one  had  cried  that 
the  lights  were  no  longer  visible,  and  the  others 
had  verified  the  cry  by  looking  blankly  into  a 
sudden  waste  of  milky  black— black  water,  pale 
light — -and  turned  baffled  eyes  to  Jarvo,  the  little 
man  spoke  smoothly,  not  even  reaching  a  lean, 
brown  hand  for  the  glass. 

"  But  have  no  fear,  adon,"  he  reassured  them, 
"the  chart  is  not  exact — it  is  that  which  has 
delayed  us.  It  will  adjust  itself.  The  light  may 
long  disappear,  but  it  will  come  again.  The  gods 
will  permit  the  possible." 

They  looked  at  one  another  doubtfully  when  the 
two  little  brown  men  had  gone  below,  where 
Bamay  had  immediately  retired,  tucking  his 
beard  in  his  collar  and  muttering  sedition.  If  the 
two  strange  creatures  were  twin  Robin  Goodf  ellows 
perpetrating  a  monstrous  twentieth  century 
prank,  if  they  were  gigantic  evolutions  of  Puck 
whose  imagination  never  went  far  beyond  thresh- 
ing corn  with  shadowy  flails,  at  least  this  very 
modern  caper  demanded  respect  for  so  perfectly 
catching  the  spirit  of  the  times.  At  all  events  it 
was  immensely  clever  of  them  to  have  put  their 
finger  upon  the  public  pulse  and  to  have  realized 
that  the  public  imagination  is  ready  to  believe 
anything  because  it  has  seen  so  much  proved. 
Still,  "  science  was  faith  once";  and  besides,  to 
St.  George,  charts  and  compasses  of  all  known 
and  unknown  systems  of  seamanship  were  sud- 


DUSK.  AND  SO  ON  12§ 

denly  become  but  the  dead  letter  of  the  law.  The 
spirit  of  the  whole  matter  was  that  Olivia  might 
be  there,  under  the  lights  that  his  own  eyes  would 
presently  see  again.  "  Who,  remembering  the 
first  kind  glance  of  her  whom  he  loves,  can  fail  to 
believe  in  magic?  "  It  is  very  likely  that  having 
met  Olivia  at  all  seemed  at  that  moment  so 
wonderful  to  St.  George  that  any  of  the  "  frolic 
things "  of  science  were  to  be  accepted  with 
equanimity. 

For  an  hour  or  more  the  moon,  flooding  the  edge 
of  the  deck  of  The  Aloha,  cast  four  shadows 
sharply  upon  the  smooth  boards.  Lined  up  at  the 
rail  stood  the  four  adventurers,  and  the  glass 
passed  from  one  to  another  like  the  eye  of  the 
three  Grey  Sisters.  The  far  beacon  appeared  and 
disappeared,  but  its  actuality  might  not  be 
doubted.  If  Jarvo  and  Akko  were  to  be  trusted, 
there  in  the  velvet  distance  lay  Yaque,  and  Med, 
the  King's  City,  and  the  light  upon  the  very 
palace  of  its  American  sovereign. 

St.  George's  pulses  leaped  and  trembled.  Amory 
lifted  lazy  lids  and  watched  him  with  growing 
understanding  and  finally,  upon  a  pretext  of 
sleep,  led  the  others  below.  And  St.  George,  with 
a  sense  of  joyful  companionship  in  the  little  light, 
paced  the  deck  until  dawn. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING 

By  afternoon  the  island  of  Yaque  was  an  accom- 
plished fact  of  distinguishable  parts.  There  it 
lay,  a  thing  of  rock  and  green,  like  the  islands  of 
its  sister  latitudes  before  which  the  passing  ships 
of  all  the  world  are  wont  to  cast  anchor.  But 
having  once  cast  anchor  before  Yaque  the  ships 
of  all  the  world  would  have  had  great  difficulty 
in  landing  anybody. 

Sheer  and  almost  smoothly  hewn  from  the 
utmost  coast  of  the  island  rose  to  a  height  of 
several  hundred  feet  one  scarcely  deviating  wall 
of  rock;  and  this  apparently  impregnable  wall 
extended  in  either  direction  as  far  as  the  sight 
could  reach.  Above  the  natural  rampart  the 
land  sloped  upward  still  in  steep  declivities,  but 
cut  by  tortuous  gorges,  and  afar  inland  rose  the 
mountain  upon  whose  summit  the  light  had  been 
descried.  There  the  glass  revealed  white  towers 
and  colunms  rising  from  a  mass  of  brilliant 
tropical  green,  and  now  smitten  by  the  late 
sun;  but  save  these  towers  and  columns  not  a 

130 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING       131 

sign  of  life  or  habitation  was  discernible.  No 
smoke  arose,  no  wharf  or  dock  broke  the  serene 
outline  of  the  black  wall  lapped  by  the  warm 
sea;  and  there  was  no  sound  save  that  of  strong 
torrents  afar  off.  Ivonely,  inscrutable,  the  great 
mass  stood,  slightly  shelved  here  and  there  to 
harbour  rank  and  blossomy  growths  of  green  and 
presenting  a  rugged  beauty  of  outline,  but  appar- 
ently as  uninhabitable  as  the  land  of  the  North 
Silences. 

Consternation  and  amazement  sat  upon  the 
faces  of  the  owner  of  The  Aloha  and  his  guests 
as  they  realized  the  character  of  the  remarkable 
island.  St.  George  and  Amory  had  counted 
upon  an  adventure  calling  for  all  diplomacy,  but 
neither  had  expected  the  delight  of  hazard  that 
this  strange,  fairy-like  place  seemed  about  to 
present.  Each  felt  his  blood  stirring  and  singing 
in  his  veins  at  the  joy  of  the  possibilities  that 
lay  folded  before  them. 

"  We  shall  be  obliged  to  land  upon  the  east 
coast  then,  Jarvo?  "  observed  St.  George;  "but 
how  long  will  it  take  us  to  sail  round  the  island?  " 

"  Very  long,"  Jarvo  responded,  "  but  no,  adou, 
we  land  on  this  coast." 

"  How  is  that  possible?  "  St.  George  asked. 

"  Well,  hi— you,"  said  Little  Cawthome,  "I'm 
a  goat,  but  I'm  no  mountain  goat.  See  the 
little  Swiss  kid  skipping  from  peak  to  peak  and 
from  crag  to  crag " 


132  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Do  we  scale  the  wall?  "  inquired  St.  George, 
"  or  is  there  a  passage  in  the  rock?  " 

Bennietod  hugged  himself  in  uncontrollable 
ecstasy. 

"  Hully  Gee,  a  submarine  passage,  in  under  de 
sea,  like  Jules  Weme,"  he  said  in  a  delight  that 
was  almost  awe. 

"  There  is  a  way  over  the  rock,"  said  Jarvo, 
"  partly  hewn,  partly  natural,  and  this  is  known 
to  the  islanders  alone.  That  way  we  must  take. 
It  is  marked  by  a  White  Blade  blazoned  on  the 
rock  over  the  entrance  of  the  submarines.  The 
way  is  cunningly  concealed — ^hardly  will  the  glass 
reveal  it,  ad  on." 

Bamay  shook  his  head. 

"  You've  a  bad  time  comin'  with  the  home- 
sickness," he  prophesied,  tucking  his  beard  far 
down  in  his  collar  until  he  looked,  for  Bamay, 
smooth-shaven,  "I've  sailed  the  sou'  Atlantic  up 
an'  down  fer  a  matther  av  four  hundhred  years, 
more  or  less,  an'  I  niver  as  much  as  seed  hide  nor 
hair  av  the  place  before  this  prisint.  There  ain't 
map  or  chart  that  iver  dhrawed  breath  that 
shows  ut,  new  or  old.  Ut's  been  lifted  out  o' 
groimd  to  be  afther  swallowin'  us  in — a  sweet 
dose  will  be  the  lot  av  us,  mesilf  with  as  foine 
a  gir-rl  av  school  age  as  iver  you'll  see  in  anny 
counthry. ' ' 

"  Ah  yes,  Bamay,"  said  St.  George  soothingly — 
but  he  would  have  tried  now  to  soothe  a  man 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  133 

in  the  embrace  of  a  sea-serpent  in  just  the  same 
absent-minded  way,  Araory  thought  indulgently. 

The  sun  was  lowering  and  birds  of  evening  were 
beginning  to  brood  over  the  painted  water  when 
The  Aloha  cast  anchor.  In  the  late  light  the 
rugged  sides  of  the  island  had  an  air  of  almost 
sinister  expectancy.  There  was  a  great  silence 
in  their  windless  shelter  broken  only  by  the  boom 
and  charge  of  the  breakers  and  the  gulls  and 
choughs  circling  overhead,  winging  and  dipping 
along  the  water  and  returning  with  discordant 
cries  to  their  crannies  in  the  black  rock.  Before 
the  yacht,  blazoned  on  a  dark,  water-polished 
stratum  of  the  volcanic  stone,  was  the  White 
Blade  which  Jarvo  told  them  marked  the  sub- 
terranean entrance  to  the  mysterious  island. 

St.  George  and  his  companions  and  Bamay, 
Jarvo  and  Akko  were  on  deck.  RoUo,  whose 
soul  did  not  disdain  to  be  valet  to  a  steam  yacht, 
was  tranquilly  mending  a  canvas  cushion. 

"  The  adon  will  wait  until  sunrise  to  go  ashore?" 
asked  Jarvo. 

''Sunrise!''  cried  St.  George.  "Heaven  on 
earth,  no.     We'll  go  now." 

There  was  no  need  to  ask  the  others.  Whatever 
might  be  toward,  they  were  eager  to  be  about, 
though  Rollo  ventured  to  St.  George  a  depreca- 
tory :  "You  know,  sir,  one  can't  be  too  careful,  sir. " 

"  Will  you  prefer  to  stay  aboard?  "  St.  George 
put  it  quietly. 


134  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,"  said  RoUo  with  a  grieved  face, 
"  one  should  meet  danger  with  a  Hght  heart, 
sir,"  and  went  below  to  pack  the  oil-skins. 

"  Hear  me  now,"  said  Barnay  in  extreme 
disfavour.  "It's  I  that  am  to  lay  hereabouts  and 
wait  for  you,  sorr?  Lord  be  good  to  me,  an' 
fwhat  if  she  lays  here  tin  year',  and  you  some- 
wheres  fillin*  the  eyes  av  the  aygles  with  your 
brains  blowed  out,  neat?  "  he  demanded  mis- 
anthropically.  "  Fwhat  if  she  lays  here  on  that 
gin'ral  theory  till  she's  rotted  up,  sorr?  " 

"  Ah  well  now,  Barnay,"  said  St.  George  grimly, 
"  you  couldn't  have  an  easier  career." 

Little  Cawthorne,  from  leaning  on  the  rail 
staring  out  at  the  island,  suddenly  pulled  himself 
up  and  addressed  St.  George. 

"  Here  we  are,"  he  complained,  "  here  has  been 
me  coming  through  the  watery  deep  all  the  way 
from  Broadway,  with  an  octopus  clinging  to  each 
arm  and  a  dolphin  on  my  back,  and  you  don't 
even  ask  how  I  stood  the  trip.  And  do  you 
realize  that  it's  sheer  madness  for  the  five  of  us 
to  land  on  that  island  together?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  asked  St.  George. 

The  little  man  shook  his  grey  curls. 

"  What  if  it's  as  Barnay  says?  "  he  put  it. 
"  What  if  tliey  should  bag  us  all — who'll  take  back 
the  glad  news  to  the  harbour?  Lord,  you  can't  tell 
what  you're  about  walking  into.  You  don't  even 
know  the  specific  gravity  of  the  island,"  he  sug- 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  liJ5 

gested  earnestly.  "  How  do  you  know  but  your 
own  weight  will  flatten  you  out  the  minute  you 
step  ashore?  " 

St.  George  laughed.  "  He  thinks  he  is  reading 
the  fiction  page, ' '  he  observed  indulgently.  ' '  Still , 
I  fancy  there  is  good  sense  on  the  page,  for  once. 
We  don't  know  anything  about  anything.  I 
suppose  we  really  ought  not  to  put  all  five  eggs 

in  one  basket.     But,  by  Jove " 

He  looked  over  at  Amory  with  troubled  eyes. 
"As  host  of  this  picnic,"  he  said,  "  I  dare  say 
I  ought  to  stay  aboard  and  let  you  fellows — but 
I'm  hanged  if  I  will." 

Little  Cawthorne  reflected,  frowning;  and  you 
could  as  well  have  expected  a  bird  to  frown  as 
Little  Cawthorne.  It  was  rather  the  name  of  his 
expression  than  a  description  of  it. 

"  Suppose,"  he  said,  "  that  Bennietod  and  I  sit 
rocking  here  in  this  bay — if  it  is  a  bay — while  you 
two  rest  your  chins  on  the  top  of  that  ledge  of 
rock  up  there,  and  look  over.  And  about  to-mor- 
row or  day  after  we  two  will  venture  up  behind 

you,  or  you  could  send  one  of  the  men  back " 

"  My  thunder,  "said  Bennietod  wistfully,  "ain't 
I  goin'  to  get  to  climb  in  de  pantry  window  at 

de  palace — nor  fire  out  of  a  loophole- " 

"  Bennietod  an'  I  couldn't  talk  to  a  prince  any- 
way," said  Little  Cawthorne;  "we'd  get  our 
language  twisted  something  dizzy,  and  probably 
tell  him  '  yes,  ma'am.'  " 


136  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

St.  George's  eyes  softened  as  he  looked  at  the 
little  man.  He  knew  well  enough  what  it  cost 
him  to  make  the  suggestion,  which  the  good  sense 
of  them  all  must  approve.  Not  only  did  Little 
Cawthorne  always  sacrifice  himself,  which  is 
merely  good  breeding,  but  he  made  opportunities 
to  do  so,  which  is  both  well-bred  and  virtuous. 
When  Rollo  came  up  with  the  oil-skins  they  told 
him  what  had  been  decided,  and  Rollo,  the  faith- 
ful, the  expressionless,  dropped  his  eyelids,  but 
he  could  not  banish  from  his  voice  the  wistfulness 
that  he  might  have  been  one  to  stay  behind. 

"  Sometimes  it  is  best  for  a  person  to  change 
his  mind,  sir,"  was  his  sole  comment. 

Presently  the  little  green  dory  drew  away  from 
The  Aloha,  and  they  left  her  lying  as  much  at  her 
ease  as  if  the  phantom  island  before  her  were  in 
every  school-boy's  geography,  with  a  scale  of 
miles  and  a  list  of  the  principal  exports  attached. 

"  If  we  had  diving  dresses,  adon,"  Jarvo  sug- 
gested, "  we  might  have  gone  down  through  the 
sluice  and  entered  by  the  lagoon  where  the  sub- 
marines pass." 

"  Jove,"  said  Amory,  trying  to  row  and  adjust 
his  pince-nez  at  the  same  time,  "Chillingworth 
will  never  forgive  us  for  missing  that." 

"  You  couldn't  have  done  it,"  shouted  Little 
Cawthorne  derisively,  from  the  deck  of  the  yacht, 
"  you  didn't  wear  your  rubbers.  If  anybody 
sticks  a  knife  in  you  send  up  a  r-r-r-ocket!  " 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  137 

The  landing,  effected  with  the  utmost  caution, 
was  upon  a  flat  stone  already  a  few  inches  sub- 
merged by  the  rising  tide.  Looking  up  at  the 
jagged,  beetling  world  above  them  their  task 
appeared  hopeless  enough.  But  Jarvo  found 
footing  in  an  instant,  and  St.  George  andAmory 
pressed  closely  behind  him,  Rollo  and  little  Akko 
silently  bringing  up  the  rear  and  carrying  the 
oil-skins.  Slowly  and  cautiously  as  they  made 
their  way  it  was  but  a  few  minutes  until  the  three 
standing  on  the  deck,  and  Barnay  open-mouthed 
in  the  dory,  saw  the  sinuous  line  of  the  five  bodies 
twist  up  the  tortuous  course  considerably  above 
the  blazoned  emblem  of  the  White  Blade. 

In  truth,  with  Jarvo  to  set  light  foot  where  no 
foot  seemed  ever  before  to  have  been  set,  with 
Jarvo  to  inspect  every  twig  and  pebble  and  to 
take  sharp  turns  where  no  turn  seemed  possible, 
the  ascent,  perilous  as  it  was,  proved  to  be  no 
such  superhuman  feat  as  from  below  it  had 
appeared.  But  it  seemed  interminable.  Even 
when  the  sea  lay  far  beneath  them  and  the  faces 
of  the  watchers  on  the  deck  of  The  Aloha  were  no 
longer  distinguishable,  the  grim  wall  continued 
to  stretch  upward,  melting  into  the  sky's  late  blue. 

The  afterglow  laid  a  fair  path  along  the  water, 
and  the  warm  dusk  came  swiftly  out  of  the  east. 
At  snail's  pace,  now  with  heads  bent  to  knees, 
now  standing  erect  to  draw  themselves  up  by 
the  arms  or  to  leap  a  wicked-looking  crevice,  th^ 


138  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

four  took  their  way  up  the  black  side  of  the 
rock.  Birds  of  the  cHffs,  disturbed  from  long 
rest,  wheeled  and  screamed  about  them,  almost 
brushing  their  faces  with  long,  fearless  wings. 
There  was  an  occasional  shelf  where,  with  backs 
against  the  wall  spotted  with  crystals  of  feldspar, 
they  waited  to  breathe,  hardly  looking  down 
from  the  dizzy  ledge.  Great  slabs  of  obsidian 
were  piled  about  them  between  stretches  of 
calcareous  stone,  and  the  soil  which  was  like 
beds  of  old  lava  covered  by  thin  layers  of  lime- 
stone, was  everywhere  pierced  by  sharp  shoulders 
of  stone  lying  in  savage  disarray.  Gradually 
rock-slides  and  rock-edges  yielded  a  less  insecure 
footing  on  the  upper  reaches,  but  the  chasms 
widened  and  water  dripping  from  lateral  cre- 
vasses made  the  vague  trail  slippery  and  the 
occasional  earth  sodden  and  treacherous.  For 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  their  way  lay  over  a  kind 
of  porous  gravel  into  which  their  feet  sank, 
and  beyond  at  the  summit  of  a  ridge  Jarvo 
halted  and  threw  back  to  them  a  summary  warn- 
ing to  prepare  for  "  a  long  leap."  A  sharp 
angle  of  rock,  jutting  out,  had  been  split  down 
the  middle  by  some  ancient  force — very  likely 
a  Paleozoic  butterfly  had  brushed  it  with  its 
wing — and  the  edges  had  been  worn  away  in  a 
treacherous  slope  to  the  very  lip  of  the  crumbling 
promontory.  From  this  edge  to  the  edge  of  the 
opposite   abutment   there  was  a  gap  of   wicked 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  139 

width,  and  between  was  a  sheer  drop  into  space 
wherefrom  rose  the  sound  of  tumbling  waters. 
When  Jarvo  had  taken  the  leap,  easily  and 
gracefully,  alighting  on  the  other  side  like  the 
greyhound  that  he  resembled,  and  the  others,  fol- 
lowing, had  cleared  the  edge  by  as  safe  a  margin 
as  if  the  abyss  were  a  minor  field-day  event, 
St.  George  and  Amory  looked  back  with  sudden 
wonder  over  the  path  by  which  they  had  come. 

"  I  feel  as  if  I  weighed  about  ninety  pounds," 
said  St.  George;  "  am  I  fading  away  or  anything?" 

Amory  stood  still. 

"  I  was  thinking  the  same  thing,"  he  said. 
**  By  Jove — do  you  suppose — what  if  Little  Caw- 
thorne  hit  the  other  end  of  the  nail,  as  usual? 
Suppose  the  specific  gravity — suppose  there  is 
something — suppose  it  doesn't  hold  good  in  this 
dimension  that  a  body — ^by  Jove,"  said  Amory, 
"  wouldn't  that  be  the  deuce?  " 

St.  George  looked  at  Jarvo,  bounding  up  the 
stony  way  as  easily  as  if  he  were  bounding  down. 

"  Ah  well  now,"  he  said,  "  you  know  on  the 
moon  an  ordinary  man  would  weigh  only  twenty- 
six  or  seven  pounds.  Why  not  here?  We  aren't 
held  down  by  any  map!  " 

They  laughed  at  the  pleasant  enormity  of  the 
idea  and  were  hurrying  on  when  Akko,  behind 
them,  broke  his  settled  silence. 

"  In  America,"  he  said,  "  a  man  feels  like  a 
mountain.     Here  he  feels  like  a  man." 


140  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that?  "  demanded 
St.  George  uneasily.  But  Akko  said  no  more, 
and  St.  George  and  Amory,  with  a  disquieting 
idea  that  each  was  laughing  at  the  other,  let 
the  matter  drop. 

From  there  on  the  way  was  easier,  leveling 
occasionally,  frequently  swelling  to  gentle  ridges, 
and  at  last  winding  up  a  steep  trail  that  was  not 
difficult  to  keep  in  spite  of  the  fast  falling  night. 
And  at  length  Jarvo,  rounding  a  huge  hummock 
where  converging  ridges  met,  scrambled  over 
the  last  of  these  and  threw  himself  on  the  ground. 

"  Now,"  he  said  simply. 

The  two  men  stood  beside  him  and  looked 
down.  It  seemed  to  St.  George  that  they 
looked  not  at  all  upon  a  prospect  but  upon  the 
sudden  memory  of  a  place  about  which  he  might 
have  dreamed  often  and  often  and,  waking,  had 
not  been  able  to  remember,  though  its  familiarity 
had  continued  insistently  to  beat  at  his  heart; 
or  that  in  what  was  spread  before  him  lay  the 
satisfaction  of  Burne- Jones'  wistful  definition  of 
a  picture:  "...  a  beautiful,  romantic  dream 
of  something  that  never  was,  never  will  be,  in  a 
light  better  than  any  light  that  ever  shone,  in  a 
land  no  one  can  define  or  remember,  only 
desire  ..."  yet  it  was  to  St.  George  as  if  he  had 
reached  no  strange  land,  no  alien  conditions;  but 
rather  that  he  had  come  home.  It  was  like  a 
home-coming  in  which  nothing  is  changed,  none 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  141 

of  the  little  improvements  has  been  made  which 
we  resent  because  no  one  has  thought  to  tell  us 
of  them;  but  where  everything  is  even  more  as 
one  remembers  than  one  knew  that  one  remem- 
bered. 

At  his  feet  lay  a  pleasant  valley  filled  with 
the  purple  of  deep  twilight.  Far  below  a  lagoon 
caught  the  late  light  and  spread  it  in  a  pattern 
among  hidden  green.  In  the  midst  of  the  valley 
towered  the  mountain  whose  summit,  royally 
crowned  by  shining  towers,  had  been  visible  from 
the  open  sea.  At  its  feet,  glittering  in  the  abun- 
dant light  shed  upon  its  white  wall  and  dome 
and  pinnacle,  stood  Med,  the  King's  City — ^but 
its  light  was  not  the  light  of  the  day,  for  that 
was  gone;  nor  of  the  moon,  not  risen;  and  no 
false  lights  vexed  the  dark.  Yet  he  was  looking 
into  a  cup  of  light,  as  clear  as  the  light  in  a  gazing- 
crystal  and  of  a  quality  as  wholly  at  variance 
with  reality.  The  rocky  coast  of  Yaque  was 
literally  a  massive,  natural  wall;  and  girt  by  it 
lay  the  heart  of  the  island,  fertile  and  populous 
and  clothed  in  mystery.  This  new  face  which 
Nature  turned  to  him  was  a  glorified  face,  and 
some  way  it  meant  what  he  meant. 

St.  George  was  off  for  a  few  steps,  trampling 
impatiently  over  the  coarse  grass  of  the  bank. 
Somewhere  in  that  dim  valley — was  she  there, 
was  she  there?  Was  she  in  trouble,  did  she  need 
him,    did   she   think  of   him?   St.   George   went 


142  ROMANCE  ISLAND  . 

through  the  ancient,  delicious  list  as  conscien- 
tiously as  if  he  were  the  first  lover,  and  she  were 
the  first  princess,  and  this  were  the  first  ascent  of 
Yaque  that  the  world  had  ever  known.  For  by 
some  way  of  miracle,  the  mystery  of  the  island 
was  suddenly  to  him  the  very  mystery  of  his 
love,  and  the  two  so  filled  his  heart  that  he 
could  not  have  told  of  which  he  was  thinking. 
That  which  had  lain,  shadowy  and  delicious,  in 
his  soul  these  many  days — not  so  very  many, 
either,  if  one  counts  the  suns — was  become  not 
only  a  thing  of  his  soul  but  a  thing  of  the  outside 
world,  almost  of  the  visible  world,  something  that 
had  existed  for  ever  and  which  he  had  just  found 
out;  and  here,  wrapped  in  nameless  light,  lay 
its  perfect  expression.  When  a  shaft  of  silver 
smote  the  long  grass  at  his  feet,  and  the  edge 
of  the  moon  rose  above  the  mountain,  St. 
George  turned  with  a  poignant  exultation — did 
a  mere  victory  over  half  a  continent  ever  make  a 
man  feel  like  that? — and  strode  back  to  the  others. 

'*  Come  on,"  he  called  ringingly  in  a  voice  that 
did  everything  but  confess  in  words  that  some- 
thing heavenly  sweet  was  in  the  man's  mind, 
"let's  be  off!" 

Amory  was  carefully  lighting  his  pipe. 

"  I  feel  sort  of  tense,"  he  explained,  "  as  if  the 
whole  place  would  explode  if  I  threw  down  my 
match.     What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

St.  George  did  not  answer. 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  143 

"It's  a  place  where  all  the  lines  lead  up,"  he 
was  saying  to  himself,  "  as  they  do  in  a  cathe- 
dral." 

The  four  went  the  fragrant  way  that  ^led 
to  the  heart  of  the  island.  First  the  path  fol- 
lowed the  high  bank  the  branches  of  whose 
tropical  undergrowth  brushed  their  faces  with 
brief  gift  of  perfume.  On  the  other  side  was 
a  wood  of  slim  trunks,  all  depths  of  shadow 
and  delicacies  of  borrowed  light  in  little  pools. 
Ever^'^vhere,  everywhere  was  a  chorus  of  slight 
voices,  from  bark  and  air  and  secret  moss,  singing 
no  forced  notes  of  monotone,  but  piping  a  true 
song  of  the  gladness  of  earth,  plaintive,  sweet, 
indescribably  harmonious.  It  came  to  St.  George 
that  this  was  the  way  the  woods  at  night  would 
always  sound  if,  somehow,  one  were  able  to  hear 
the  sweetness  that  poured  itself  out.  Even  that 
familiar  sense  in  the  night-woods  that  something 
is  about  to  happen  was  deliciously  present  with 
him ;  and  though  Amory  went  on  quietly  enough, 
St.  George  swam  down  that  green  way,  much  as  one 
dreams  of  floating  along  a  street,  above-heads. 

The  path  curved,  and  went  hesitatingly  down 
many  terraces.  Here,  from  the  dimness  of  the 
marge  of  the  island,  they  gradually  emerged 
into  the  beginnings  of  the  faint  light.  It  was 
not  like  entering  upon  dawn,  or  upon  the  moon- 
light. It  was  by  no  means  like  going  to  meet 
the  lights  of  a  city.     It  was  literally   "  a  light 


144  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

better  than  any  light  that  ever  shone,"  and 
it  wrapped  them  round  first  like  a  veil  and 
then  like  a  mantle.  Dimly,  as  if  released  from 
the  censer-smoke  of  a  magician's  lamp,  boughs 
and  glades,  lines  and  curves  were  set  free  of  the 
dark;  and  St.  George  and  Amory  could  see  about 
them.  Yet  it  did  not  occur  to  either  to  distrust 
the  phenomenon,  or  to  regard  it  as  unnatural  or 
the  fruit  of  any  unnatural  law.  It  was  somehow 
quite  as  convincing  to  them  as  is  his  first  sight  of 
electric  light  to  the  boy  of  the  countryside,  and 
no  more  to  be  regarded  as  witchcraft. 

St.  George  was  silent.  It  was  as  if  he  were  on 
the  threshold  of  Far- Away,  within  the  Porch  of  the 
Morning  of  some  day  divine.  The  place  was  so 
poignantly  like  the  garden  of  a  picture  that  one 
has  seen  as  a  child,  and  remembered  as  a  place 
past  all  speech  beautiful,  and  yet  failed  ever  to  rea- 
lize in  after  years,  or  to  make  any  one  remember, 
or,  save  fleetingly  in  dreams  to  see  once  more, 
since  the  picture-book  is  never,  never  chanced 
upon  again.  Sometimes  he  had  dreamed  of  a 
great  sunny  plain,  with  armies  marching;  some- 
times he  had  awakened  at  hearing  the  chimes,  and 
fancied  sleepily  that  it  was  infinite  music;  some- 
times, in  the  country  in  the  early  morning,  he  had 
had  an  unreasonable,  unaccountable  moment  of 
perfect  happiness :  and  now  the  fugitive  element 
of  them  all  seemed  to  have  been  crystallized  and 
made   his   own   in   that  floating   walk  down  the 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  145 

wooded  terraces  of  this  unknown  world.  And 
yet  he  could  not  have  told  whether  the  element 
was  contained  in  that  beauty,  or  in  his  thought 
of  Olivia. 

At  last  they  emerged  upon  a  narrow,  grassy 
terrace  where  white  steps  mounted  to  a  wide 
parapet.     Jarvo  ran  up  the  steps  and  turned: 

"  Behold  Med,  adon,"  he  said  modestly,  as  if 
he  had  at  that  moment  stirred  it  up  in  a  sauce- 
pan and  baked  it  before  their  astonished  eyes. 

They  were  standing  at  the  top  of  an  immense 
flight  of  steps  extending  as  far  to  right  and  left 
as  they  could  see,  and  leading  down  by  easy 
stages  and  wide  landings  to  the  white-paved  city 
itself.  The  clear  light  flooded  the  scene — ^lucid, 
vivid,  many-peopled.  Far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
broad  streets  extended,  lined  with  structures  rival- 
ing in  splendour  and  beauty  those  unforgotten 
"  topless  towers."  Temples,  palaces,  and  public 
buildings  rose,  storey  upon  storey,  built  of  hewn 
stones  of  great  size;  and  noble  arches  faced  an 
open  square  before  a  temple  of  colossal  masonry 
crowning  an  eminence  in  the  centre  of  the  city. 
Directly  in  line  with  this  eminence  rose  the 
mountain  upon  whose  summit  stood  the  far-seen 
pillars  where  burned  the  solitary  light. 

If  an  enchanted  city  had  risen  from  the  waves 
because  some  one  had  chanced  to  speak  the  right 
word,  it  could  have  been  no  more  bewildering;  and 
yet  the  look  of  this  city  was  so  substantial,  so 


146  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

adapted  to  all  commonplace  needs,  so  essentially 
the  scene  of  every-day  activity  and  purpose,  that 
dozens  of  towns  of  petty  European  principalities 
seem  far  less  actual  and  practicable  homes  of 
men.  Busy  citizens  hurrying,  the  bark  of  a  dog, 
the  mere  tone  of  a  temple  bell  spoke  the  ordinary 
occupations  of  all  the  world;  and  upon  the  chief 
street  the  moon  looked  down  as  tranquilly  as  if 
the  causeway  were  a  continuation  of  Fifth 
Avenue. 

But  it  was  as  if  the  spirit  of  adventure  in  St. 
George  had  suddenly  turned  and  questioned  him, 
saying : 

"  What  of  Olivia?  " 

For  Olivia  gone  to  a  far-away  island  to  find  her 
father  was  subject  of  sufficient  anxiety;  but 
Olivia  in  the  power  of  a  pretender  who  might  have 
at  command  such  undreamed  resources  was  more 
than  cool  reason  could  comprehend.  That  was 
the  principal  impression  that  Med,  the  King's 
City,  made  upon  St.  George. 

"  To  the  right,  adon,"  Jarvo  was  saying, 
"  where  the  walls  are  highest — that  is  the  palace 
of  the  prince,  the  Palace  (if  the  Litany." 

"  And  the  king's  palace?  "  St.  George  asked 
eagerly. 

Jarvo  lifted  his  face  to  the  solitary  summit  light 
Upon  the  mountain. 

'*  But  how  does  one  ascend?  "  cried  St.  George. 

"  By   permission    of    Prince   Tabnit,"    replied 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MOROTNG  147 

Jarv^o,  "  one  is  borne  up  by  six  imperial  carriers, 
trained  in  the  service  from  birth.  One  attempting 
the  ascent  alone  would  be  dashed  in  pieces." 

"  No  municipal  line  of  airships?  "  ventured 
Amory  in  slow  astonishment. 

Jarvo  did  not  quite  get  this. 

"  The  airships,  adon,"  he  said,  "  belong  to  the 
imperial  household  and  are  kept  at  the  summit 
of  Mount  Khalak." 

"  A  trust,"  comprehended  Amory;  "  an  abso- 
lute monarchy  is  a  bit  of  a  trust,  anyhow.  Of 
course,  it's  sometimes  an  outraged  trust  .  .  ."  he 
murmured  on. 

"  The  adon,"  said  Jarvo  humbly,  "  will  under- 
stand that  we,  I  and  Akko,  have  borne  great 
risk.  It  is  necessary  that  we  make  our  peace 
with  all  speed,  if  that  may  be.  The  very  walls 
are  the  ears  of  Prince  Tabnit,  and  it  is  better  to 
be  behind  those  walls.  May  the  gods  permit  the 
possible." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  asked  St.  George, 
"  that  we  too  would  better  look  out  the  prince 
at  once?  " 

"  The  ad6n  is  wise,"  said  Jarvo  simply,  "  but 
nothing  is  hid  from  Prince  Tabnit." 

St.  George  considered.  In  this  mysterious 
place,  whose  ways  were  as  unknown  to  him  and 
to  his  companions  as  was  the  etiquette  of  the 
court  of  the  moon,  clearly  diplomacy  was  the 
better  part  of  valour.     It  was  wiser  to  seek  out 


148  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Prince  Tabnit,  if  he  had   really  arrived  on  the 
island,  than  to  be  upon  the  defensive. 

"  Ah,  very  well,"  he  said  briefly,  "  we  will 
visit  the  prince." 

"Farewell,  adon,"  said  Jarvo,  bowing  low, 
"  may  the  gods  permit  the  possible." 

"  Of   course   you   will    communicate   with   us  * 
to-morrow,"  suggested  St.   George,   "  so  that  if 
we  wish  to  send  RoUo  down  to  the  yacht " 

"  The  gods  will  permit  the  possible,  adon," 
Jarvo  repeated  gently. 

There  was  a  flash  of  Akko's  white  teeth  and 
the  two  little  men  were  gone. 

St.  George  and  Amory  turned  to  the  descending 
of  the  wide  white  steps.  Such  immense,  impos- 
sible white  steps  and  such  a  curious  place  for 
these  two  to  find  themselves,  alone,  with  a  valet. 
Struck  by  the  same  thought  they  looked  at 
each  other  and  nodded,  laughing  a  little. 

"  Alone  in  the  distance,"  said  Amory,  emptying 
his  pipe,  "  and  not  a  cab  to  be  seen." 

Rollo  thrust  forward  his  lean,  shadowed  face. 

"  Shall  I  look  about  for  a  'ansom,  sir?  "  he 
inquired  with  perfect  gravity. 

St.  George  hardly  heard. 

"  It's  like  cutting  into  a  great,  smooth  sheet  of 
white  paper,"  he  said  whimsically,  "  and  making 
any  figure  you  want  to  make." 

Before  they  reached  the  bottom  of  the  steps 
they  divined,  issuing  from  an  isolated,  temple- 


The  porch  oi?  the  morning  149 

seeming  building  below,  a  train  of  sober-liveried 
attendants,  all  at  first  glance  resembling  Jarvo 
and  Akko.  These  defiled  leisurely  toward  the 
strangers  and  lined  up  irregularly  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps. 

"  Enter  Trouble,"  said  Amory  happily. 

They  found  themselves  confronting,  in  the  midst 
of  the  attendants,  an  olive  man  with  no  angles, 
whose  face,  in  spite  of  its  health  and  even  wealth 
of  contour,  was  ridiculously  grave,  as  if  the  papier- 
macM  man  in  the  down-town  window  should 
have  had  a  sudden  serious  thought  just  before 
his  papier-machS  incarnation. 

"  Permit  me,"  said  the  man  in  perfect  English 
and  without  bowing,  "  to  bring  to  you  the  greeting 
of  his  Highness,  Prince  Tabnit,  and  his  welcome 
to  Yaque.  I  am  Cassyrus,  an  officer  of  the 
government.  At  the  command  of  his  Highness  I 
am  come  to  conduct  you  to  the  palace." 

"  The  prince  is  most  kind,"  said  St.  George, 
and  added  eagerly:     "  He  is  returned,  then?  " 

"  Assuredly.     Three  days  ago,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  the  king — is  he  returned?  "  asked  St. 
George. 

The  man  shook  his  head,  and  his  very  anxiety 
seemed  important. 

"  His  Majesty,  the  King,"  he  affirmed,  "  is  still 
most  lamentably  absent  from  his  throne  and  his 
people." 

*'  And   his  daughter?  "   demanded  St.   George 


150  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

then,  who  could  not  possibly  have  waited  an 
instant  longer  to  put  that  question. 

"  The  daughter  of  his  Majesty,  the  King," 
said  Cassyrus,  looking  still  more  as  if  he  were 
having  his  portrait  painted,  "  will  in  three  days 
be  recognized  publicly  as  Princess  of  Yaque." 

St.  George's  heart  gave  a  great  bound.  Thank 
Heaven,  she  was  here,  and  safe.  His  hope  and 
confidence  soared  heavenward.  And  by  some 
miracle  she  was  to  take  her  place  as  the  people  of 
Yaque  had  petitioned.  But  what  was  the  mean- 
ing of  that  news  of  the  prince's  treachery  which 
Jarvo  and  Akko  had  come  bearing?  The  prince 
had  faithfully  fulfilled  his  mission  and  had  con- 
ducted the  daughter  of  the  King  of  Yaque  safely 
to  her  father's  country.     What  did  it  all  mean? 

St.  George  hardly  noted  the  majestic  square 
through  which  they  were  passing.  Impressions 
of  great  buildings,  dim  white  and  misty  grey  and 
bathed  in  light,  bewilderingly  succeeded  one 
another;  but,  as  in  the  days  which  followed  the 
news  of  his  inheritance,  he  found  himself  now  in  a 
temper  of  unsurprise,  in  that  mental  atmosphere — 
properly  the  normal — which  regards  all  miracle 
as  natural  law.  He  even  omitted  to  note  what 
was  of  passing  strangeness:  that  neither  the 
retinue  of  the  minister  nor  the  others  upon  the 
streets  cast  more  than  casual  glances  at  their 
unusual  visitors.  But  when  the  great  gates  of  the 
palace  were  reached  his  attention  was  challenged 


THE  PORCH  OF  THE  MORNING  151 

and  held,  for  though  mere  marvels  may  become 
the  air  one  breathes,  beauty  will  never  cease 
to  amaze,  and  the  vista  revealed  was  of  almost 
disconcerting   beauty. 

Avenues  of  brightness,  arches  of  green, 
glimpses  of  airy  columns,  of  boundless  lavras  set 
with  high,  pyramidal  shrines,  great  places  of  quiet 
and  straight  line,  alleys  whose  shadow  taught 
the  necessity  of  mystery,  the  sound  of  water — 
the  pure,  positive  element  of  it  all — and  every- 
where, above,  below  and  far,  that  delicate,  laby- 
rinth light,  diffused  from  no  visible  source.  It 
was  as  if  some  strange  compound  had  changed  the 
character  of  the  dark  itself,  transmuting  it  to  a 
subtle  essence  more  exquisite  than  light,  inhabit- 
ing it  with  wonders.  And  high  above  their  heads 
where  this  translucence  seemed  to  mix  with  the 
upper  air  and  to  fuse  with  moonbeams,  sprang 
almost  joyously  the  pale  domes  and  cornices  of 
the  palace,  sending  out  floating  streamers  and 
pennons  of  colours  nameless  and  unknown. 

"Jupiter,"  said  the  human  Amory  in  awe, "what 
a  picture  for  the  first  page  of  the  supplement." 

St.  George  hardly  heard  him.  The  picture  held 
so  perfectly  the  elusive  charm  of  the  Question — 
the  Question  which  profoundly  underlies  all  things. 
It  was  like  a  triumphant  burst  of  music 
which  yet  ends  on  a  high  note,  with  imperfect 
close,  hinting  passionately  at  some  triumph  still 
loftier. 


152  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

From  either  side  of  the  wall  of  the  palace  yard 
came  glittering  a  detachment  of  the  Royal  Golden 
Guard,  clad  in  uniforms  of  unrelieved  cloth-of- 
gold.  These  halted,  saluted,  wheeled,  and  between 
their  shining  ranks  St.  George  and  Amory  footed 
quietly  on,  followed  by  Rollo  carrying  the  yellow 
oil-skins.  To  St.  George  there  was  relief  in 
the  motion,  relief  in  the  vastness,  and  almost  a 
boy's  delight  in  the  pastime  of  living  the  hour. 

Yet  Royal  Golden  Guard,  majestic  avenues, 
and  towered  palace  with  its  strange  banners 
floating  in  strange  light,  held  for  him  but  one 
reality.  And  when  they  had  mounted  the  steps 
of  the  mighty  entrance,  and  the  sound  of 
unrecognized  music  reached  him — a  very  myth  of 
music,  elusive,  vagrant,  fugued — and  the  palace 
doors  swung  open  to  receive  them,  he  could  have 
shouted  aloud  on  the  brilliant  threshold: 

"  He  says  she  is  here  in  Yaque." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS 

So  there  were  St.  George  and  Amory  presently 
domiciled  in  a  prince's  palace  such  as  Asia  and 
Europe  have  forgotten,  as  by  and  by  they  will 
forget  the  Taj  Mahal  and  the  Bon  March^.  And 
at  nine  o'clock  the  next  morning  in  a  certain 
Tyrian  purple  room  in  the  west  wing  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Litany  the  two  sat  breakfasting. 

"  One  always  breakfasts,"  observed  St.  George. 
"The  first  day  that  the  first  men  spend  on  Mars  I 
wonder  whether  the  first  thing  they  do  will  be  to 
breakfast." 

"  Poor  old  Mars  has  got  to  step  down  now," 
said  Amory.  "  We  are  one  farther  on.  I  don't 
know  how  it  will  be,  but  if  I  felt  on  Mars  the  way  I 
do  now,  I  should  assent  to  breakfast.  Shouldn't 
you?  " 

"  On  my  life,  Toby,"  said  St.  George,  "  as  an 
idealist  you  are  disgusting.     Yes,  I  should." 

The  table  had  been  spread  before  an  open  win- 
dow, and  the  window  looked  down  upon  the  palace 
garden,  steeped  in  the  gold  of  the  sunny  morning, 

»33 


154  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and  formal  with  aisles  of  mighty,  flowering  trees. 
Within,  the  apartment  was  lofty,  its  walls  fash- 
ioned to  lift  the  eye  to  light  arches,  light  capitals, 
airy  traceries,  and  spaces  of  the  hue  of  old  ivory, 
held  in  heavenly  quiet.  The  sense  of  colour, 
colour  both  captive  and  atmospheric,  was  a  new 
and  persistent  delight,  for  it  was  colour  purified, 
specialized,  and  infinitely  extended  in  either  direc- 
tion from  the  crudity  of  the  seven-winged  spec- 
trum. The  room  was  like  an  alcove  of  outdoors, 
not  divorced  from  the  open  air  and  set  in  contra- 
distinction, but  made  a  continuation  of  its  space 
and  order  and  ancient  repose — a  kind  of  exquisite 
porch  of  light. 

Across  this  porch  of  light  Rollo  stepped,  bear- 
ing a  covered  dish.  The  little  breakfast-table  and 
the  laden  side-table  were  set  with  vessels  of 
rock-crystal  and  drinking-cups  of  silver  gilt, 
and  breakfast  consisted  of  delicately-prepared 
sea-food,  a  pulpy  fruit,  thin  wine  and  a  paste  of 
delicious  powdered  gums.  These  things  Rollo 
served  quite  as  if  he  were  managing  oatmeal 
and  eggs  and  china.  One  would  have  said 
that  he  had  been  brought  up  between  the  covers 
of  an  ancient  history,  nothing  in  consequence 
being  so  old  or  so  new  as  to  amaze  him.  Upon 
their  late  arrival  the  evening  before  he  had 
instantly  moved  about  his  duties  in  all  the  quiet 
decorum  with  which  he  officiated  in  three  rooms 
and    a   bath,    emptying   the   oil-skins,    disposing 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  155 

of  their  contents  in  great  cedar  chests,  and,  from 
certain  rich  and  alien  garments  laid  out  for  the 
guests,  pretending  as  unconcernedly  to  fleck 
lint  as  if  they  had  been  broadcloth  from  Fifth 
Avenue.  He  stood  bending  above  the  breakfast- 
table,  his  lean,  shadowed  hands  perfectly  at  home, 
his  lean,  shadowed  face  all  automatic  attention. 

"  Rollo,"  said  St.  George,  "  go  and  look  out 
the  window  and  see  if  Sodom  is  smoking. ' ' 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rollo,  and  moved  to  the 
nearest  casement  and  bent  his  look  submissively 
below. 

"  Everything  quiet,  sir,"  he  reported  literally; 
"  a  very  warm  day,  sir.  But  it's  easy  to  sleep, 
sir,  no  matter  how  warm  the  days  are  if  only  the 
nights  are  cool.     Begging  your  pardon,  sir." 

St.  George  nodded. 

"  You  don't  see  Jezebel  down  there  in  the 
trees,"  he  pressed  him,  "  or  Elissa  setting  off 
to  found  Carthage?  Chaldea  and  Egypt  all 
calm?  "  he  anxiously  put  it. 

Rollo  stirred  uneasily. 

"  There's  a  couple  o'  blue-tailed  birds  scrappin' 
in  a  palm  tree,  sir,"  he  submitted  hopefully. 

"  Ah,"  said  St.  George,  "  yes.  There  would  be. 
Now,  if  you  like,"  he  gave  his  servant  permission, 
"  you  may  go  to  the  festivals  or  the  funeral  games 
or  wherever  you  choose  to-day.  Or  perhaps," 
he  remembered  with  solicitude,  "  you  would  pre- 
fer  to    be    present    at    the  wedding-of-the-land- 


156  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

water-with-the-sea-water,  providing,  as  I  suspect, 
Tyre  is  handy?  " 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Rollo  doubtfully. 

"  Mind  you  put  your  money  on  the  crack  disc- 
thrower, though,"  warned  St.  George,  "  and  you 
might  put  up  a  couple  of  darics  for  me." 

"  No,"  languidly  begged  Amory,  "pray  no.  You 
are  getting  your  periods  mixed  something  horrid." 

"  A  person's  recreation  is  as  good  for  him  as 
his  food,  sir,"  proclaimed  Rollo,  sententious, 
anxious  to  agree. 

"  Food,"  said  Amory  languidly,  "  this  isn't 
food — it's  molten  history,  that's  what  it  is. 
Think — this  is  what  they  had  to  eat  at  the  cafes 
boulevardes  of  Gomorrah.  And  to  think  we've 
been  at  Tony's,  before  now.  Do  you  remember," 
he  asked  raptly,  "  those  brief  and  savoury  ban- 
quets around  one  o'clock,  at  Tony's?  From 
where  Little  Cawthome  once  went  away  wearing 
two  omelettes  instead  of  his  overshoes?  Don't 
tell  me  that  Tonycana  and  all  this  belong  to  the 
same  system  in  space.     Don't  tell  me " 

He  stopped  abruptly  and  his  eyes  sought  those 
of  St.  George.  It  was  all  so  incredible,  and 
yet  it  was  all  so  real  and  so  essentially,  distract- 
ingly  natural. 

"  I  feel  as  if  we  had  stepped  through  some- 
thing, to  somewhere  else.  And  yet,  somehow,  there 
is  so  little  difference.  Do  you  suppose  when  people 
die  they  don't  notice  any  difference,  either?  " 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  157 

^"  What  I  want  to  know,"  said  Amory,  filling 
his^  pipe,  "  is  how  it's  going  to  look  in  print. 
Think  of  Crass— digging  for  head-lines." 

St.  George  rose  abruptly.     Amory  was  delicious, 

especially  his  drawl;  but  there  were  times 

"  Print  it,  "  he  exclaimed,  "  you  might  as  well 
try  to  print  the  absolute." 
Amory  nodded. 

"  Oh,  if  you're  going  to  be  Neoplatonic,"  he 
said,  "I'm  off  to  hum  an  Orphic  hymn.  Isn't 
it  about  time  for  the  prince?  I  want  to  get  out 
with  the  camera,  while  the  light  is  good." 

The  lateness  of  the  hour  of  their  arrival  at  the 
palace  the  evening  before  had  prevented  the 
prince  from  receiving  them,  but  he  had  sent  a 
most  courteous  message  announcing  that  he  him- 
self would  wait  upon  them  at  a  time  which  he 
appointed.  While  they  were  abiding  his  coming, 
Rollo  setting  aside  the  dishes,  Amory  smoking' 
strolling  up  and  down,  and  examining  the  faint 
symbolic  devices  upon  the  walls'  tiling,  St.  George 
stood  before  one  of  the  casements,  and  looked 
over  the  aisles  of  flowering  tree-tops  to  the 
grim,  grey  sides  of  Mount  Khalak,  inscrutable, 
inaccessible,  now  not  even  hinting  at  the  walls 
and  towers  upon  its  secret  summit.  He  was 
thinking  how  heavenly  curious  it  was  that 
the  most  wonderful  thing  in  his  common- 
place world  of  New  York— that  is,  his  meeting 
with  Olivia— should,  out  here    in  this  world  of 


158  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

things  wonderful  beyond  all  dream,  still  hold 
supreme  its  place  as  the  sovereign  wonder,  the 
sovereign  delight. 

"  I  dare  say  that  means  something,"  he  said 
vaguely  to  himself,  "and  I  dare  say  all  the  people 
who  are — in  love — know  what  it  does  mean," 
and  at  this  his  spirit  of  adventure  must  have 
nodded  at  him,  as  if  it  understood,  too. 

When,  in  a  little  time.  Prince  Tabnit  appeared 
at  the  open  door  of  the  "  porch  of  light,"  it 
was  as  if  he  had  parted  from  St.  George  in  McDou- 
gle  Street  but  the  night  before.  He  greeted  him 
with  exquisite  cordiality  and  his  welcome  to 
Amory  was  like  a  welcome  unfeigned.  He  was 
clad  in  white  of  no  remembered  fashion,  with  the 
green  gem  burning  on  his  breast,  but  his  manner 
was  that  of  one  perfectly  tailored  and  about  the 
most  cosmopolitan  offices  of  modernity.  One 
might  have  told  him  one's  most  subtly  humour- 
ous story  and  rested  certain  of  his  smile. 

"  I  wonder,"  he  asked  with  engaging  hesitation 
when  he  was  seated,  "  whether  I  may  have  a 
— cigarette?  That  is  the  name ?  Yes,  a  cigarette. 
Tobacco  is  unknown  in  Yaque.  We  have  invented 
no  colonies  useful  for  the  luxury.  How  can  it  be 
— forgive  me — that  your  people,  who  seem 
remote  from  poetry,  should  be  the  devisers  and 
popularizers  of  this  so  poetic  pastime  ?  To  breathe 
in  the  green  of  earth  and  the  light  of  the  dead 
sun!  The  poetry  of  your  American  smoke 
delights  me." 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  159 

St.  George  smiled  as  he  offered  the  prince  his 
case, 

"  In  America,"  he  said,  "  we  devised  it  as  a 
vice,  your  Highness.  We  are  obhged  to  do  the 
same  with  poetry,  if  we  popularize  it." 

And  St.  George  was  thinking: 

"  Miss  Holland.  He  has  seen  Miss  Holland— 
perhaps  yesterday.  Perhaps  he  will  see  her 
to-day.  And  how  in  this  world  am  I  ever  to 
mention  her  name?" 

But  the  prince  was  in  the  idlest  and  most  genial 
of  humours.  He  spoke  at  once  of  the  matters 
^uppermost  in  the  minds  of  his  guests,  gave  them 
jnews  of  the  party  from  New  York,  told  how  they 
iwere  in  comfort  in  the  palace  on  the  summit  of 
Mount  Khalak,  struck  a  momentary  tragic  note 
in  mention  of  the  mystery  still  mantling  the 
absence  of  the  king  and  repeated  the  announce- 
ment already  made  by  Cassyrus,  the  premier,  that 
in  two  days'  time,  failing  the  return  of  the  sov- 
ereign, the  king's  daughter  would  be  publicly 
recognized,  with  solemn  ceremonial,  as  Princess 
of  Yaque.  Then  he  turned  to  St.  George,  his 
eyes  searching  him  through  the  haze  of  smoke. 
^^  "Your  own  coming  to  Yaque,"  he  said  abruptly, 
"  was  the  result  of  a  sudden  decision?  " 

"  Quite  so,  your  Highness, "  replied  St.  George. 
"  It  was  wholly  unexpected." 

"Then  we  must  try  to  make  it  also  an 
unexpected  pleasure,"  suggested  the  prince 
lightly.  "I  am  come  to  ask  you   to   spend   the 


160  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

day  with  me  in  looking  about  Med,  the  King's 
City." 

He  dropped  the  monogrammed  stub  of  his 
cigarette  in  a  little  jar  of  smaragdos,  brought,  he 
mentioned  in  passing,  from  a  despoiled  temple  of 
one  of  the  Chthonian  deities  of  Tyre,  and  turned 
toward  his  guests  with  a  winning  smile. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  I  can  no  longer  postpone 
my  own  pleasure  in  showing  you  that  our  nation 
is  the  Lady  of  Kingdoms  as  once  were  Babylon 
and  Chaldea." 

It  was  as  if  the  strange  panorama  of  the  night 
before  had  once  more  opened  its  frame,  and  they 
were  to  step  within.  As  the  prince  left  them 
St.  George  turned  to  Rollo  for  the  novelty  of 
addressing  a  reality. 

"  How  do  you  wish  to  spend  the  day,  Rollo?  " 
he. asked  him. 

Rollo  looked  pensive. 

"  Could  I  stroll  about  a  bit,  sir?  "  he  asked. 

"  Stroll!  "  commanded  St.  George  cheerfully. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Rollo.  "I  always  think 
a  man  can  best  learn  by  observation,  sir." 

"Observe!  "  supplemented  his  master  pleas- 
antly, as  a  detachment  of  the  guard  appeared  to 
conduct  Amory  and  him  below. 

"  Don't  black  up  the  sandals,"  Amory  warned 
Rollo  as  he  left  him,  **  and  be  back  early.  We 
may  want  you  to  get  us  ready  for  a  mastodon 
hunt." 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  161 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rollo  with  simplicity,  "  I'll  be 
back  quite  some  time  before  tea-time,  sir." 

St.  George  was  smiling  as  they  went  down  the 
corridor.  He  had  been  vain  of  his  love  that,  in 
Yaque  as  in  America,  remained  the  thing  it  was, 
supreme  and  vital.  But  had  not  the  simplicity 
of  Rollo  taken  the  leap  in  experience,  and 
likewise  without  changing?  For  a  moment,  as  he 
went  down  the  silent  corridors,  lofty  as  the 
woods,  vocal  with  faint  inscriptions  on  the 
uncovered  stone,  the  old  human  doubt  assailed 
him.  The  very  age  of  the  walls  was  a  protest 
against  the  assumption  that  there  is  a  touchstone 
that  is  ageless.  Even  if  there  is,  even  if  love 
is  unchanging,  the  very  temper  of  unconcern  of 
his  valet  might  be  quite  as  persistent  as  love 
itself.  But  the  gallery  emptying  itself  into  a 
great  court  open  to  the  blue  among  graven  rafters, 
St.  George  promptly  threw  his  doubt  to  the  fresh, 
heaven-kissing  wind  that  smote  their  faces,  and 
against  mystery  and  argument  and  age  alike  he 
matched  only  the  happy  clamour  of  his  blood. 
Olivia  Holland  was  on  the  island,  and  all  the  age 
was  gold.  In  Yaque  or  on  the  continents  there 
can  be  no  manner  of  doubt  that  this  is  love, 
as  Love  itself  loves  to  be. 

They  emerged  in  the  appeasing  air  of  that 
perfect  morning,  and  the  sweetness  of  the  flower- 
ing trees  was  everywhere,  and  wide  roads  pointed 
invitingly  to  undiscovered  bournes,  and  overhead 


162  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

in  the  curving  wind  floated  the  flags  and  stream- 
ers of  those  joyous,  wizard  colours. 

They  went  out  into  the  rejoicing  world,  and 
it  was  like  penetrating  at  last  into  the  heart  of 
that  "  land  a  great  way  off  "  which  holds  captive 
the  wistful  thought  of  the  children  of  earth,  and 
reveals  itself  as  elusively  as  ecstasy.  If  one  can 
remember  some  journey  that  he  has  taken  long 
ago — Long  Ago  and  Far  Away  are  the  great 
touchstones  —  and  can  remember  the  glamourie  of 
the  hour  and  forget  the  substructure  of  events, 
if  he  can  recall  the  pattern  and  forget  the  fabric, 
then  he  will  understand  the  spirit  that  informed 
that  first  morning  in  Yaque.  It  was  a  morning 
all  compact  of  wonder  and  delight — wonder  at 
that  which  half-revealed  itself,  delight  in  the 
ever-present  possibility  that  here,  there,  at  any 
moment,  Olivia  Holland  might  be  met.  As  for 
the  wonder,  that  had  taken  some  three  thousand 
years  to  accumulate,  as  nearly  as  one  could 
compute;  and  as  for  the  delight,  that  had  taken 
less  than  ten  days  to  make  possible;  and  yet 
there  is  no  manner  of  doubt  which  held  high 
place  in  the  mind  of  St.  George  as  the  smooth 
miles  fled  away  from  hurrying  wheels. 

Such  wheels!  Motors?  St.  George  asked  him- 
self the  question  as  he  took  his  place  beside  the 
prince  in  the  exquisitely  light  vehicle,  Amory 
following  with  Cassyrus,  and  the  suites  coming 
after,   like  the  path  from  a  lanthom.    For  the 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  163 

vehicles  were  a  kind  of  electric  motor,  but  con- 
structed exquisitely  in  a  fashion  which,  far  from 
affronting  taste,  delighted  the  eye  by  leading  it  to 
lines  of  unguessed  beauty.  They  were  motors 
as  the  ancients  would  have  built  them  if  they 
had  understood  the  trick  of  science,  motors  in 
which  the  lines  of  utility  were  veiled  and  taught 
to  be  subordinate.  The  speed  attained  was  by 
no  means  great,  and  the  motion  was  gentle  and 
sacrificed  to  silence.  And  when  St.  George 
ventured  to  ask  how  they  had  imported  the 
first  motors,  the  prince  answered  that  as  Colum- 
bus was  sailing  on  the  waters  of  the  Atlantic  at 
adventure,  the  people  of  Yaque  were  touring 
the  island  in  electric  motors  of  much  the  same 
description,  though  hardly  the  clumsiness,  of 
those  which  he  had  noticed  in  New  York. 

This  was  the  first  astonishment,  and  other 
astonishments  were  to  follow.  For  as  they  went 
about  the  island  it  was  revealed  that  the 
remainder  of  the  world  is  asleep  with  science 
for  a  pillow  and  the  night-lamp  of  philosophy 
casting  shadows.  Yet  as  the  prince  exhibited 
wonders,  one  after  another,  St.  George,  dimly 
conscious  that  these  are  the  things  that  men  die 
to  discover,  would  have  given  them  all  for  one 
moment's  meeting  with  Olivia  on  that  high-road 
of  Med.  If  you  come  to  think  of  it,  this  may  be 
why  science  always  has  moved  so  slowly,  creep- 
ing on  from  point  to  point. 


164  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Thus  it  came  about  that  when  Prince  Tabnit 
indicated  a  low,  pillared,  temple -like  building  as  the 
home  of  perpetual  motion,  which  gave  the  power 
operating  the  manufactures  and  water  supply  of 
the  entire  island,  St.  George  looked  and  understood 
and  resolved  to  go  over  the  temple  before  he 
left  Yaque,  and  then  fell  a- wondering  whether, 
when  he  did  so,  Olivia  would  be  with  him. 
When  the  prince  explained  that  it  is  ridiculous 
to  suppose  that  combustion  is  the  chief  means 
of  obtaining  light  and  heat,  or  that  Heaven  pro- 
vided divinely-beautiful  forests  for  the  express 
purpose  of  their  being  burned  up ;  and  when  he  told 
him  that  artificial  light  and  heat  were  effected 
in  a  certain  reservoir  (built  with  a  classic  regard 
for  the  dignity  of  its  use  as  a  link  with  unspoken 
forces)  St.  George  listened,  and  said  over  with 
attention  the  name  of  the  substance  acted  upon 
by  emanations — and  wondered  if  Olivia  were  not 
afraid  of  it.  So  it  was  all  through  the  exhibition 
of  more  wonders  scientific  and  economic  than 
any  one  has  dreamed  since  every  one  became  a 
victim  of  the  world's  habit  of  being  afraid  to 
dream.  Although  it  is  true  that  when  St. 
George  chanced  to  observe  that  there  were  about 
Med  few  farms  of  tilled  ground,  the  prince's 
reply  did  startle  him  into  absorbed  attention: 

"  You  are  referring  to  agriculture?  "  Prince  Tab- 
nit said  after  a  moment's  thought.  "  I  know  the 
word  from   old  parchments  brought  from  Phoe- 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  165 

nicia  by  our  ancestors.  But  I  did  not  know- 
that  the  art  is  in  practice  anywhere  in  the  world. 
Do  you  mean  to  assure  me,"  cried  the  prince 
suddenly,  "  that  the  vegetables  which  I  ate  in 
America  were  raised  by  what  is  known  as 
*  tilling  the  soil' ?  " 

"How  else,  your  Highness?"  doubted  St.  George, 
wondering  if  he  were  responsible  for  the  fading 
mentality  of  the  prince. 

Prince  Tabnit  looked  away  toward  the  splen- 
dour of  some  new  thought. 

"  How  beautiful,"  he  said,  "to  subsist  on  the 
sun  and  the  dust.  Beautiful  and  lost,  like  the 
dreams  of  Mitylene.  But  I  feel  as  if  I  were 
reading  in  Genesis,"  he  declared.  "  Is  it  possible 
that  in  this  '  age  of  science '  of  yours  it  has  not 
occurred  to  your  people  that  if  plants  grow 
by  slowly  extracting  their  own  elements  from 
the  soil,  those  elements  artificially  extracted  and 
applied  to  the  seed  will  render  growth  and 
fruitage  almost  instantaneous?" 

"  At  all  events  we've  speculated  about  it," 
St.  George  hastened  to  impart  with  pride,  "  just 
as  we  do  about  telephones  that  will  let  people 
see  one  another  when  they  talk.  But  nearly 
every  one  smiles  at  both." 

"  Don't  smile,"  the  prince  warned  him.  "  Yaque 
has  perfected  both  those  inventions  only  since 
she  ceased  to  smile  at  their  probability.  Nothing 
can  be  simpler  than    instantaneous   vegetation 


166  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Any  Egyptian  juggler  can  produce  it  by  using 
certain  acids.  We  have  improved  the  process  until 
our  fruits  and  vegetables  are  produced  as  they  are 
needed,  from  hour  to  hour.  This  was  one  of  the 
so-called  secrets  of  the  ancient  Phoenicians — has 
it  never  occurred  to  you  as  important  that  the 
Phoenician  name  for  Dionysos,  the  god  of  wine- 
growers, was  lost?  " 

Mentally  St.  George  added  another  barrel  to 
the  cargo  of  The  Aloha,  and  wondered  if  the 
Sentinel  would  start  botanical  gardens  and  a 
lighting  plant  and  turn  them  to  the  account  of 
advertisers. 

All  the  time,  mile  upon  mile,  was  unrolling 
before  them  the  unforgetable  beauty  of  the 
island.  So  perfectly  were  its  features  mar- 
shaled and  so  exact  were  its  proportions  that, 
as  in  many  great  experiences  and  as  in  all  great 
poems,  one  might  not,  without  familiarity,  recall 
its  detail,  but  must  instead  remain  wrapped  in 
the  glory  of  the  whole.  The  avenues,  wide  as 
a  river,  swept  between  white  banks  of  majestic 
buildings  combining  with  the  magic  of  great  mass 
the  pure  beauty  of  virginal  line.  Line,  the  joy  of 
line,  the  glory  of  line,  almost,  St.  George  thought, 
the  divinity  of  line,  was  everywhere  manifest;  and 
everywhere  too  the  divinity  of  colour,  no  longer 
a  quality  extraneous,  laid  on  as  insecure  fancy 
dictates,  but,  by  some  law  long  unrevealed,  now 
actually  identified  with  the  object  which  it  not 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  167 

SO  much  decorated  as  purified.  Tlie  most  inter- 
esting of  the  thoroughfares  led  from  the  Bury- 
chorus,  or  public  square,  along  the  lagoon.  This 
fair  water,  extending  from  Med  to  Melita,  was 
greenly  shored  and  dotted  with  strange  little 
pleasure  crafts  with  exquisite  sweeping  prows 
and  silken  canopies.  Before  a  white  temple, 
knee-deep  in  whose  flowered  ponds  the  ibises 
dozed  and  contemplated,  was  anchored  the  impe- 
rial trireme,  with  delicately-embroidered  sails 
and  prow  and  poop  of  forgotten  metals. 
From  within,  temple  music  sounded  softly  and 
was  never  permitted  to  be  silenced,  as  the  flame 
of  the  Vestals  might  never  be  extinguished.  Here 
on  the  shores  had  begun  the  morning  traffic  of 
itinerant  merchants  of  Med  and  Melita,  compelled 
by  law  to  carry  on  their  exchange  in  the  morning 
only,  when  the  light  is  least  lovely.  Upon  can- 
opied wagons  drawn  by  strange  animals,  with 
shining  horns,  were  displayed  for  sale  all  the 
pleasantest  excuses  for  commerce — ostrich  feath- 
ers, gums,  gems,  quicksilver,  papyrus,  bales  of 
fair  cloth,  pottery,  wine  and  oranges.  The 
sellers  of  salt  and  fish  and  wool  and  skins  were 
forced  down  under  the  wharfs  of  the  lagoon, 
and  there  endeavoured  to  attract  attention  by 
displaying  fanciful  and  lovely  banners  and  by 
liberating  faint  perfumes  of  the  native  orris  and 
algum.  Street  musicians,  playing  tunefully  upon 
the  zither  and  upon  the  crowd,  wandered,  wear- 


168  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

ing  wreaths  of  fir,  and  clustered  about  stalls 
where  were  offered  tenuous  blades,  and  statues, 
and  temple  vessels  filled  with  wine  and  flowers. 

At  the  head  of  the  street  leading  to  the  temple 
of  Baaltis  (My  Lady — Aphrodite)  the  prince's 
motor  was  checked  while  a  procession  of  pilgrims, 
white-robed  and  carrying  votive  offerings,  passed 
before  them,  the  votive  tablet  to  the  Lady  Tanith 
and  the  Face  of  Baal  being  borne  at  the  head  of 
the  line  by  a  dignitary  in  a  smart  electric  vic- 
toria. This  was  one  of  the  frequent  Festival 
Embassies  to  Melita,  to  combine  religious  rites 
with  mourning  games  and  the  dedication  of  the 
tablet,  and  there  was  considerable  delay  incident 
to  the  delivery  of  a  wireless  message  to  the 
dignitary  with  the  tablet  of  the  Semitic  inscrip- 
tion. St.  George  wondered  vaguely  why,  in  a 
world  of  marvels,  progress  should  not  already 
have  outstripped  the  need  of  any  communi- 
cation at  all.  This  reminded  him  of  some- 
thing at  which  the  prince  had  hinted  away  off 
in  another  aeon,  in  another  world,  when  St. 
George  had  first  seen  him,  and  there  followed 
ten  minutes  of  talk  not  to  be  forgotten. 

"  Would  it  be  possible  for  you  to  tell  me, 
your  Highness,"  St.  George  asked, — and  there- 
after even  a  lover  must  have  forgiven  the  brief 
apostasy  of  his  thought — "how  it  can  be  that 
you  know  the  English?  How  you  are  able  to 
speak  it  here  in  Yaque?  " 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  169 

The  motor  moved  forward  as  the  procession 
passed,  and  struck  into  a  magnificent  country- 
avenue  bordered  by  trees,  tall  as  elms  and 
fragrant  as  acacias. 

"  I  can  tell  you,  yes,"  said  the  prince,  "  but 
I  warn  you  that  you  will  not  in  the  least  under- 
stand me.  I  dare  say,  however,  that  I  may  illus- 
trate by  something  of  which  you  know.  Do 
there  chance  to  be,  for  example,  any  children  in 
America  who  are  regarded  as  prodigies  of  certain 
understanding?  " 

"  You  mean,"  St.  George  asked,  "  children  who 
can  play  on  a  musical  instrument  without  knowing 
how  they  do  it,  and  so  on?  " 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  prince  with  interest. 

"  Many,  your  Highness,"  affirmed  St.  George. 
**  I  myself  know  a  child  of  seven  who  can  play 
most  difficult  piano  compositions  without  ever 
having  been  taught,  or  knowing  in  the  least  how 
he  does  it." 

"  Do  you  think  of  any  one  else?  "  asked  the 
prince. 

"  Yes,"  said  St.  George,  "  I  know  a  little  lad  of 
about  five,  I  should  say,  who  can  add  enormous 
numbers  and  instantly  give  the  accurate  result. 
And  he  has  no  idea  how  he  does  that,  and  no  one 
has  ever  taught  him  to  count  above  twelve. 
Oh — every  one  knows  those  cases,  I  fancy." 

"  Has  any  one  ever  explained  them,  Mr.  St. 
George?  "  asked  the  prince. 


170  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  How  should  they?  "  asked  St.  George  simply. 
*'  They  are  prodigies." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  prince  again.  "  It  is  almost 
incredible  that  these  instances  seem  to  suggest 
to  no  one  that  there  must  be  other  ways  to  '  learn  ' 
music  and  mathematics — and,  therefore,  every- 
thing else — than  those  known  to  your  civilization. 
Let  me  assure  you  that  such  cases  as  these,  far 
from  being  miracles  and  prodigies,  are  perfectly 
normal  when  once  the  principle  is  understood,  as 
we  of  Yaque  understand  it.  It  is  the  average 
intelligence  among  your  people  which  is  abnormal, 
inasmuch  as  it  is  unable  to  perform  these  func- 
tions which  it  was  so  clearly  intended  to  exer- 
cise." 

"  Do  you  mean,"  asked  St.  George,  "  that  we 
need  not  learn — as  we  understand  '  learn'  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  prince  simply.  "  You  are 
accustomed,  I  was  told  in  New  York,  to  say  that 
there  is  '  no  royal  road  to  learning. '  On  the  con- 
trary, I  say  to  you  that  the  possibilities  of  these 
children  are  in  every  one.  But  to  my  intense 
surprise  I  find  that  we  of  Yaque  are  the  only  ones 
in  the  world  who  understand  how  to  use  these 
possibilities.  Our  system  of  education  consists 
simply  in  mastering  this  principle.  After  that, 
all  knowledge — all  languages,  for  instance — 
everything — ^belongs  to  us." 

St.  George  looked  away  to  the  rugged  sides  of 
Mount  Khalak,  lying  in  its  clouds  of  iris  morning 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  171 

mist,  unreal  as  a  mountain  of  Ultima  Thule.  It 
was  all  right — what  he  had  just  been  hearing  was 
a  part  of  this  ultimate  and  fantastic  place  to 
which  he  had  come.  And  yet  he  was  real  enough, 
and  so,  according  to  certain  approved  dialectic, 
perhaps  these  things  were  realities,  too.  He  stole 
a  glance  at  the  prince's  profile.  Here  was  actually 
a  man  who  was  telling  him  that  he  need  not 
have  faced  Latin  and  Greek  and  calculus;  that 
they  might  have  been  his  of  his  own  accord  if 
only  he  had  understood  how  to  call  them  in! 

"  That  would  make  a  ver}^  joHy  thing  of  col- 
lege," he  pensively  conceded.  "  You  could  not 
show  me  how  it  is  managed,  your  Highness?  " 
he  besought.  "  That  will  hardly  come  in  bulk, 
too " 

The  prince  shook  his  head,  smiling. 

"  I  could  not  '  show  you,'  as  you  say,"  he 
answered,  "any  more  than  I  could,  at  present, 
send  a  wireless  communication  without  the  appa- 
ratus— though  it  will  be  only  a  matter  of  time 
until  that  is  accomplished,  too." 

■  St.  George  pulled  himself  up  sharply.  He 
glanced  over  his  shoulder  and  saw  Amory 
polishing  his  pince-nez  and  looking  quite  as  if 
he  were  leaning  over  hansom-doors  in  the  park, 
and  he  turned  quickly  to  the  prince,  half  con- 
vinced that  he  had  been  mocked. 

"Suppose,  your  Highness,"  he  said,  "  that  I  were 
to  print  what  you  have  just  told  me  on  the  front 


172  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

page  of  a  New  York  morning  paper,  for  people 
to  glance  over  with  their  coffee?  Do  you  think 
that  even  the  most  open-minded  among  them 
would  believe  that  there  is  such  a  place  as  Yaque?" 

The  prince  smiled  curiously,  and  his  long- 
fringed  lids  drooped  in  momentary  contempla- 
tion. The  auto  turned  into  that  majestic  avenue 
which  terminates  in  the  Eurychorus  before  the 
Palace  of  the  Litany.  St.  George's  eye  eagerly 
swept  the  long  white  way.  At  its  far  end  stood 
Mount  Khalak.  She  must  have  passed  over  this 
very  ground. 

"  There  is,"  the  prince's  smooth  voice  broke 
in  upon  his  dream,  "  no  such  place  as  Yaque — 
as  you  understand  '  place.'  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  your  Highness? "  St. 
George  doubted  blankly.  Good  Heavens.  Maybe 
there  had  arrived  in,  Yaque  no  Olivia,  as  he 
understood  Olivia. 

"  You  showed  some  surprise,  I  remember," 
continued  the  prince,  "  when  I  told  you,  in  McDou- 
gle  Street,  that  we  of  Yaque  understand  the 
Fourth  Dimension." 

McDougle  Street.  The  sound  smote  the  ear 
of  St.  George  much  as  would  the  clang  of  the  fire 
patrol  in  the  midst  of  light  opera. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  said,  his  attention  now  com- 
pletely chained.  Yet  even  then  it  was  not  that 
he  cared  so  absorbingly  about  the  Fourth  Dimen- 
sion.    But  what  if  this  were  all  some  trick  and 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  173 

if,  in  this  strange  land,  Olivia  had  simply  been 
flashed  before  his  eyes  by  the  aid  of  mirrors? 

"  I  find,"  said  the  prince  with  deliberation, 
"  that  in  America  you  are  familiar  with  the 
argument  that,  if  your  people  understood  only 
length  and  breadth  and  did  not  understand  the 
Third  Dimension — thickness — you  could  not  then 
conceive  of  lifting,  say,  a  square  or  a  triangle 
and  laying  it  down  upon  another  square  or  tri- 
angle. In  other  words,  you  would  not  know 
an3^hing  of  up  and  down." 

St.  George  nodded.  This  was  the  familiar  talk 
of  college  class-rooms. 

"As  it  is,"  pursued  the  prince,  "  your  people 
do  perfectly  understand  lifting  a  square  and 
placing  it  upon  a  square,  or  a  triangle  upon  a 
triangle.  But  you  do  not  know  anything  about 
placing  a  cube  upon  a  cube,  or  a  pyramid  upon  a 
pyramid  so  that  both  occupy  the  same  space  at 
the  same  time.  We  of  Yaque  have  mastered  that 
principle  also,"  the  prince  tranquilly  concluded, 
"  and  all  that  of  which  this  is  the  alphabet.  That 
is  why  we  are  able  to  keep  our  island  unknown 
to  the  world — not  to  say  '  invisible.'  " 

For  a  moment  St.  George  looked  at  him  speech- 
lessly; then,  in  spite  of  himself,  a  slow  smile 
overspread  his  face. 

"  But,"  he  said,  "  your  Highness,  there  is  not  a 
mathematician  in  the  civilized  world  who  has  not 
considered  that  problem  and  cast  it  aside,  witl; 


174  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  word  that  if  fourth-dimensional  space  does 
exist  it  can  not  possibly  be  inhabited." 

"  Quite  so,"  said  the  prince.  "  and  yet  here  we 
are." 

And,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it — as  St.  George 
did — that  is  the  only  answer  to  a  world  of  impos- 
sibilities already  proved  possible.  But  the  vista 
which  all  this  opened  smote  him  with  irresistible 
humour. 

"  Ah  well  now,  I  suppose,  your  Highness,"  he 
said,  "  that  our  ocean  liners  sail  clean  through 
the  island  of  Yaque,  then,  and  never  even  have 
their  smoke  pushed  side  wise?  " 

The  prince  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  Have  you  ever,"  he  asked,  "  had  occasion  to 
explain  the  principles  of  hydraulics,  or  chess,  or 
philosophical  idealism  to  a  three-year-old  child, 
or  a  charwoman?  You  must  forgive  me,  but 
really  I  can  think  of  no  better  comparison.  I 
am  quite  as  powerless  now  as  you  have  been  if 
you  have  ever  attempted  it.  I  can  only  assure 
you  that  such  things  are.  Without  Jarvo  or 
Akko  or  some  one  who  understood,  you  might 
have  sailed  the  high  seas  all  your  life  and  never 
have  come  any  nearer  to  Yaque." 

St.  George  reflected. 

"  Is  Yaque  the  only  example  of  this  kind  of 
thing,"  he  asked,  "  that  the  Fourth  Dimension 
would  reveal?  " 

"By  no  means,"  said  the  prince  in  surprise, 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  175 

"  the  world  is  literally  teeming  with  like  revela- 
tions, once  the  key  is  in  your  hands.  The 
Fourth  Dimension  is  only  the  beginning.  We 
utilize  that  to  isolate  our  island.  But  the 
higher  dimensions  are  gradually  being  conquered, 
too.  Nearly  all  of  us  can  pass  into  the  Fifth  at 
will,  '  disappearing,'  as  you  have  the  word,  from 
the  lower  dimensions.  It  is  well-known  to  you 
that  in  a  land  whose  people  knew  length  and 
breadth,  but  no  up  and  down,  an  object  might  be 
pushed,  but  never  lifted  up  or  put  down.  If  it 
were  to  be  lifted,  such  a  people  would  believe  it 
to  have  '  disappeared.'  So,  from  you  who  know 
only  three  dimensions,  Yaque  has  '  disappeared,' 
until  one  of  us  guides  you  here.  Also  we  pass  at 
will  into  the  Fifth  Dimension  and  even  higher, 
and  seem  to  '  disappear';  the  only  difference  is 
that,  there,  we  should  not  be  able  yet  to  guide 
one  who  did  not  himself  understand  how  to  pass 
there.  Just  as  one  who  understands  how  to  die 
and  to  come  to  life,  as  you  have  the  phrase,  would 
not  be  able  to  take  with  him  any  one  who  did 
not  understand  how  to  take  himself  there  .  .   ." 

St.  George  listened,  grasping  at  straws  of  com- 
prehension, remembering  how  he  had  heard  all 
this  theorized  about  and  smiled  at;  but  most  of 
all  he  was  beset  by  a  practical  consideration. 

"  Then,"  he  said  suddenly,  the  question  leap- 
ing to  his  lips  almost  against  his  will,  "  if  you 
hold  this  key  to  all  knowledge,  how  is  it  that  the 


176  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

king — Mr.  Holland — could  get  away  from  yoUi 
and  the  Hereditary  Treasure  be  lost?  " 

The  prince  sighed  profoundly. 

"  We  have  by  no  means,"  he  said,  "  perfected 
our  knowledge.  We  are  at  one  with  the  absolute 
in  knowledge — true.  But  the  affairs  of  every  day 
most  frequently  elude  us.  Not  even  the  most 
advanced  among  us  are  perfect  intuitionists.  We 
have  by  no  means  reached  that  desirable  and 
inevitable  day  when  our  minds  shall  flow  together, 
without  need  of  communication,  without  possi- 
bility of  secret.  We  still  suffer  the  disadvan- 
tage of  a  slight  barrier  of  personality." 

"  And  it  is  into  one  of  these  lapses,"  thought 
St.  George  irreverently,  "  that  the  king  has  dis- 
appeared." Aloud  he  asked  curiously  concerning 
a  matter  which  was  every  moment  becoming  more 
incomprehensible . 

"  But  how,  your  Highness,"  he  said  simply, 
"  did  your  people  ever  consent  to  have  an  Ameri- 
can for  your  king?  " 

Before  the  prince  could  reply  there  occurred  a 
phenomenon  that  sent  all  thought  of  such  insub- 
stantialities  as  the  secrets  of  the  Fourth  Dimen- 
sion far  in  the  background. 

The  prince's  motor,  closely  followed  by  the 
others  of  the  train,  had  reached  a  little  eminence 
from  which  the  island  unrolled  in  fair  patterns. 
Before  them  the  smooth  road  unwound  in  varied 
light.     At    their    left    lay    a    still    grove    from 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  177 

whose  depths  was  glimpsed  a  sUm  needle  of  a 
tower,  rising,  arrow-like,  from  the  green.  In  the 
distance  lay  Med,  with  shining  domes.  The  water 
of  the  lagoon  gave  brightness  here  and  there 
among  the  hills.  And  as  St.  George  and  the 
prince  looked  over  the  prospect  they  saw,  far  down 
the  avenue  toward  Med,  a  little,  moving  speck — a 
speck  moving  with  a  rapidity  which  neither  the 
prince's  motor  nor  any  known  motor  of  Yaque 
had  ever  before  permitted  itself. 

In  an  instant  the  six  members  of  the  Royal 
Golden  Guard,  who  upon  beautiful,  spirited  horses 
rode  in  advance  of  the  train  of  the  prince,  wheeled 
and  thundered  back,  lifting  glittering  hands  of 
warning.  "Aside!  Aside!"  shrieked  the  main 
Golden  Guard,  "  a  motor  is  without  control!  " 

Immediately  there  was  confusion.  At  a  touch 
the  prince's  car  was  drawn  to  the  road's  extreme 
edge,  and  the  Golden  Guards  rode  furiously  back 
along  the  train,  hailing  the  peaceful,  slow-going 
machines  into  orderly  retreat.  They  were  all 
sufficiently  amenable,  for  at  sight  of  the  alarming 
and  unprecedented  onrush  of  the  growing  speck 
that  was  bearing  full  down  upon  them,  anxiety 
sat  upon  every  face. 

St.  George  watched.  And  as  the  car  drew 
nearer  the  thought  which,  at  first  sight  of  its  speed, 
had  vaguely  flashed  into  being,  took  definite  shape, 
and  his  blood  leaped  to  its  music.  AVhose  hand 
would  be  upon  that  lever,  whose  daring  would  be 


178  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

directing  its  flight,  whose  but  one  in  all  Yaque— 
and  that  Olivia's  ? 

It  was  Olivia.  That  was  plain  even  in  the  mere 
instant  that  it  took  the  great,  beautiful  motor,  at 
thirty  miles  an  hour,  to  flash  past  them.  St. 
George  saw  her — coat  of  hunting  pink  and  flutter- 
ing veil  and  shining  eyes ;  he  was  dimly  conscious 
of  another  little  figure  beside  her,  and  of  the 
unmistakable  and  agonized  Mrs.  Hastings  in  the 
tonneau;  but  it  was  only  Olivia's  glance  that  he 
caught  as  it  swept  the  prince.  There  was  the 
faintest  possible  smile,  and  she  was  gone;  and  St. 
George,  his  heart  pounding,  sat  staring  stupidly 
after  that  shining  cloud  of  dust,  frantically  won- 
dering whether  she  could  just  possibly  have  seen 
him.  For  this  was  no  trick  of  the  imagination, 
his  galloping  heart  told  him  that.  And  whether 
or  not  Yaque  was  a  place,  the  world,  the  world 
was  within  his  grasp,  instinct  with  possibilities 
heavenly  sweet.  His  eyes  met  Amory's  in  the 
minute  when  Cassyrus,  prime  minister  of  Yaque, 
had  it  borne  in  upon  him  that  this  was  no  runaway 
machine,  but  the  ordinary  and  preferred  pace 
of  the  daughter  of  their  king;  and  while  Cassyrus, 
at  the  enormity  of  the  conception,  breathed 
out  expostulations  in  several  languages — some  of 
them  known  to  us  only  by  means  of  inscriptions 
on  tombs — Amory  spoke  to  St.  George: 

"  Who  was  the  other  girl?  "  he  asked  compre- 
hensively. 


THE  tADY  OF  KINGDOMS  179 

"  What  other  girl?  "  St.  George  blankly  mur- 
mtired. 

And  at  this,  Amory  turned  away  with  a  look 
that  could  be  made  to  mean  whatever  Amory 
meant. 

On  went  the  imperial  train  faring  back  to  Med 
over  the  road  lately  stirred  to  shining  dust  by  the 
wheels  of  Olivia's  auto.  Olivia's  auto.  St.  George 
was  secretly  saying  over  the  words  with  a  kind  of 
ecstatic  non-comprehension,  when  the  prince  spoke: 

"  That,"  he  said,  "  may  explain  why  an  Ameri- 
can has  been  able  to  govern  us.  Chance  crowned 
him,  but  he  made  himself  king." 

Prince  Tabnit  hesitated  and  his  eyes  wandered 
— and  those  of  St.  George  followed — to  a  far 
winding  dot  in  that  opal  valley,  a  mere  speck 
of  silver  with  a  prick  of  pink,  fleeing  in  a  cloud  of 
sunny  dust. 

"  I  do  not  know  if  you  will  know  what  I  mean," 
said  the  prince,  "  but  hers  is  the  spirit,  and  the 
spirit  of  her  father,  the  king,  which  Yaque  had 
never  known.  It  is  the  spirit  which  we  of 
Phoenicia  seem  to  have  lost  since  the  wealth  of  the 
world  accumulated  at  her  ports  and  she  gave  her 
trust  to  the  hands  of  mariners  and  mercenaries, 
and  later  bowed  to  the  conqueror.  It  is  the  spirit 
that  not  all  the  continental  races,  I  fancy,  have 
for  endowment,  but  yours  possesses  in  rich  meas- 
ure. For  this  we  would  exchange  half  that  we 
have  achieved." 


180  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

St.  George  nodded,  glowing. 

"It  is  a  great  tribute,  your  Highness,"  he  said 
simply,  and  in  his  heart  he  laid  it  at  Olivia's  feet. 

Thereafter,  in  the  long  ride  to  Melita,  during 
luncheon  upon  a  high  white  terrace  overlooking 
the  sailless  sea,  and  in  the  hours  on  the  unforget- 
able  roads  of  the  islands,  St.  George,  while 
incommunicable  marvels  revealed  themselves 
linked  with  incommunicable  beauty,  sat  in  the 
prince's  motor,  his  eyes  searching  the  horizon  for 
that  fleeing  speck  of  silver  and  pink.  It  did  not 
appear  again.  And  when  the  train  of  the  prince 
rolled  into  the  yard  of  the  Palace  of  the  Litany  it 
trembled  upon  St.  George's  lips  to  ask  whether 
the  formalities  of  the  court  would  permit  him  that 
day  to  scale  the  skies  and  call  upon  the  royal 
household. 

"  For  whatever  he  says,  I've  got  to  do,"  thought 
St.  George,  "  but  no  matter  what  he  says,  I 
shall  go.  Doesn't  Amory  realize  that  we've  been 
more  than  twelve  hours  on  this  island,  and  that 
nothing  has  been  done?  " 

And  then  as  they  crossed  the  grassy  court  in 
the  delicate  hush  of  the  merging  light — the  name- 
less radiance  already  penetrating  the  dusk — the 
prince  spoke  smoothly,  as  if  his  words  bore  no 
import  deeper  than  his  smile: 

"  You  are  come,"  he  said  courteously,  "in 
time  for  one  of  the  ceremonies  of  our  regime 
most  important — to  me.     You  will,  I  hope,  do 


THE  LADY  OF  KINGDOMS  181 

honour  to  the  occasion  by  your  presence.  This 
evening,  in  the  Hall  of  Kings  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Litany,  will  occur  the  ceremony  of  my  betrothal." 

"  Your  betrothal,  your  Highness?  "  repeated 
St.  George  uncertainly. 

"  You  will  be  attended  by  an  escort,"  the  prince 
continued,  "  and  Balator,  the  commander  of  the 
guard,  will  receive  you  in  the  hall.  May  the 
gods  permit  the  possible." 

He  swept  through  the  portico  before  them,  and 
they  followed  dumbly. 

The  betrothal  of  the  prince. 

St.  George  heard,  and  his  eager  hope  went 
down  in  foreboding.  He  turned,  hardly  daring 
to  read  his  own  dread  in  the  eyes  of  Amory. 

Amory,  as  St.  George  had  said,  was  delicious, 
especially  his  drawl;  but  there  were  times — 
now,  for  example,  when  all  that  the  eyes  of 
Amory  expressed  was  what  his  lips  framed,  soUo- 
voce: 

"  An  American  heiress,  betrothed  to  the  prince 
of  a  cannibal  island!  Wouldn't  Chillingworth 
turn  in  his  grave  at  his  desk?  " 


CHAPTER  X 

TYRIAN    PURPI.E 

The  "  porch  of  light  "  proved  to  be  an  especially 
fascinating  place  at  evening.  Evening,  which 
makes  most  places  resemble  their  souls  instead 
of  their  bodies,  had  a  grateful  task  in  the  beautiful 
room  whose  spirit  was  always  uppermost,  and 
Evening  moved  softly  in  its  ivory  depths,  prelud- 
ing for  Sleep.  Here,  his  lean,  shadowed  face  all 
anxiety,  Rollo  stood,  holding  at  arm's  length  a 
parti-coloured  robe  with  floating  scarfs. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  sir,"  he  said  doubtfully, 
*'  that  this  one  would  'ave  done  better.  Beggin' 
your  pardon,  sir." 

St.  George  shook  his  head  distastefully. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said,  and  broke  into 
a  slow  smile  as  he  looked  at  Amory.  The  robes 
which  the  prince  had  provided  for  the  evening 
were  rather  harder  to  become  accustomed  to 
than  the  notion  of  intuitive  knowledge. 

"  There's  an  air  about  this  one  though,  sir," 
opined  Rollo  firmly,  "  there's  a  cut — a  sort  of 
way  with  the  seams,  so  to  speak,  sir,  that  the  other 

182 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  183 

can't  touch.  And  cut  is  what  counts,  sir,  cut 
counts  every  time." 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  dare  say,  Rollo,"  said  St.  George, 
"  and  as  a  judge  of  '  cut  '  I  don't  say  you  can  be 
equaled.  But  I  do  say  that  in  the  styles  of 
Deuteronomy  you  aren't  necessarily  what  you 
might  call  up." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Rollo,  dropping  his  eyes, 
"  but  a  well-dressed  man  was  a  well-dressed 
man,  sir,  then  as  now." 

As  a  matter  of  fact  the  well-knit,  athletic  young 
figures  looked  uncommonly  well  in  the  garments 
a  la  mode  in  Yaque.  One  would  have  said  that 
if  the  garments  followed  Deuteronomy  fashions 
they  had  at  all  events  been  cut  by  the  scissors 
of  a  court  tailor  to  Louis  XV.  The  result  was 
beautiful  and  bizarre,  but  it  did  not  suggest 
stageland  because  the  colours  were  so  good. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  St.  George,  examining  the 
exquisitely  fine  cloth  whose  shades  were  of  curious 
depth  and  richness,  "  that  this  may  be  regular 
Tyrian  purple." 

Amory  waved  his  long  sleeves.  -^ 

"  Stop,"  he  languidly  begged,  "  you  make  me 
feel  like  a  golden  text," 

St.  George  went  back  to  the  row  of  open  case- 
ments and  resumed  his  walk  up  and  down  before 
the  windows  that  looked  away  to  the  huge 
threatening  bulk  of  Mount  Khalak.  Since  the 
prince's  announcement  that  afternoon  St.  George 


184  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

had  done  little  besides  continuing  that  walk. 
Now  it  wanted  hardly  half  an  hour  to  the  momen- 
tous ceremony  of  the  evening,  big  with  at  least 
one  of  the  dozen  portents  of  which  he  accused  it. 

"  Amory,"  he  burst  out  as  he  walked,  "  if  you 
didn't  know  anything  about  it,  would  you  say 
that  the  prince  could  possibly  have  made  her 
consent  to  marry  him?  " 

Amory,  left  in  the  middle  of  the  great  room, 
stood  polishing  his  pince-nez  exactly  as  if  he  had 
been  waiting  at  the  end  of  Chillingworth's  desk 
of  a  bright,  American  morning. 

"  If  I  didn't  know  anything  about  it,"  he  said 
cheerfully,  "  I  should  say  that  he  had.  As  it  is, 
having  this  afternoon  watched  a  certain  motor 
wear  its  way  past  me,  I  should  say  that  nothing 
in  Yaque  is  more  unlikely.  And  that's  about  as 
strong  as  you  could  put  it." 

"  We  don't  know  what  the  man  may  have 
threatened,"  said  St.  George  morosely,  "  he  may 
have  played  upon  her  devotion  to  her  father  to 
some  ridiculous  extent.  He  may  have  refused 
to  land  the  submarine  at  Yaque  at  all  other- 
wise  " 

St.  George  broke  off  suddenly. 

"Toby!  "  he  said. 

Amory  looked  over  and  nodded.  He  had  seen 
that  look  before  on  St.  George's  face. 

"  She's  not  going  to  marry  the  prince,"  said 
St.  George,  "  and  if  her  father  is  alive  and  in  a 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  185 

hole,  he's  going  to  be  pulled  out.  And  she's  not 
going  to  marry  the  prince." 

"  Why,  no,"  assented  Amory,  "  no." 

He  had  guessed  a  good  deal  of  the  truth  since  he 
had  been  watching  St.  George  flee  over  seas  upon 
a  yacht,  shod,  so  to  speak,  with  fire,  and  he  had 
arrived  at  the  suspicion  that  The  Aloha  was 
winged  by  little  Loves  and  guided  under  water  by 
plenty  of  blue  and  green  dragons.  But  he  had 
not,  until  now,  been  thoroughly  certain  that 
St.  George's  spirit  of  adventure  had  another  name; 
and  though  theoretically  his  sympathies  leaped  to 
the  look  in  his  friend's  eyes,  yet  he  found  himself 
wondering  practically  what  effect  romance  would 
be  having  upon  their  enterprise.  After  all,  from 
a  newspaper  point  of  view,  to  relinquish  any  part 
of  the  adventure  was  a  kind  of  tragedy,  and  it 
cost  Amory  something  to  emphasize  his  assent. 

"  Of  course  she  won't,"  he  said,  "  and  now  let's 
toddle  down  and  see  about  it." 

When  the  tread  of  the  feet  of  a  detachment 
of  the  Royal  Golden  Guard  was  heard  without, 
Rollo  advanced  to  the  door  with  a  dignity  which 
amounted  to  melancholy.  The  setting  of  a  palace 
and  the  proximity  of  a  prince  had  raised  his  office 
to  the  majesty  of  skilled  labour.  He  always 
threw  open  the  door  now  as  who  should  say, 
"  Enter,     But  mind  you  have  a  reason." 

At  sight  of  the  long  liberty  of  the  corridor  where 
the  light  lay  mysteriously  touching  tiles  and  tap- 


186  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

estries  to  festal  colours,  Amory's  spirits  rose 
contagiously,  and  his  eyes  shone  behind  his  pince- 
nez. 

"  Me,"  he  said,  looking  ahead  with  enjoyment 
at  the  glittering  escort,  "  me — done  in  a  fabric  of 
about  the  eleventh  shade  of  the  Yaque  spectrum 
— made  loose  and  floppy,  after  a  modish  Canaan- 
itish  model.  I'll  wager  that  when  the  first-born 
of  Canaan  was  in  the  flood-tide  of  glory,  this 
very  gown  was  worn  by  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
women  in  the  pentapolis  of  Philistia.  I'm  going 
to  photograph  the  model  for  the  Sunday  supple- 
ment, and  name  it   The  Nebuchadnezzar  " 

Amory  murmured  on,  and  St.  George  hardly 
heard  him.  He  could  almost  count  by  minutes 
now  the  time  until  he  should  see  her.  Would  she 
see  him,  and  might  he  just  possibly  speak  with  her, 
and  what  would  the  evening  hold  for  her?  As 
he  went  forth  where  she  would  be,  the  spell  of 
the  place  was  once  more  laid  upon  him,  as  it  had 
been  laid  in  the  hour  of  his  coming.  Once  more,  as 
in  the  hour  when  he  had  first  looked  down  upon 
the  valley  brimming  with  a  light  "  better  than 
any  light  that  ever  shone  "  he  was  at  one  with  the 
imponderable  things  which,  always  before,  had 
just  eluded  him.  Now,  as  then,  the  thought  of 
Olivia  was  the  symbol  for  them  all.  So  the  two 
went  on  through  the  winding  galleries — silent, 
haunted — ^to  the  great  staircase,  and  below  into 
the  crowded  court.     And  when  they  reached  the 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  187 

threshold  of  the  audience-chamber  they  involun- 
tarily stood  still. 

The  hall  was  like  a  temple  in  its  sense  of  space 
and  height  and  clear  air,  but  its  proportions  did 
not  impress  one,  and  indeed  one  could  not  remem- 
ber its  boundaries  as  one  does  not  consider 
the  boundaries  of  a  grove.  It  was  amphitheatre- 
shaped,  and  about  it  ran  a  splendid  colonnade,  in 
the  niches  of  whose  cornices  were  beautiful 
grotesques — but  Yaque  seemed  to  be  a  land  whose 
very  grotesques  had  all  the  dignity  of  the  ultimate 
instead  of  crying  for  the  indulgence  due  a  phase. 
The  roof  was  inlaid  with  prisms  of  clear  stone,  and 
on  high  were  pilasters  carved  with  the  Tyrian 
sphinxes  crucified  upon  upright  crosses,  sur- 
mounted by  parhelions  of  burnished  metal.  All 
the  seats  faced  a  great  dais  at  the  chamber's  far 
end  where  three  thrones  were  set. 

But  it  was  the  men  and  women  in  the  great 
chamber  who  filled  St.  George  with  wonder.  The 
women — they  were  beautiful  women,  slow-moving, 
slow-eyed,  of  soft  laughter  and  sudden  melancholy, 
and  clear,  serene  profiles  and  abundant  hair.  And 
they  were  all  alive,  fully  and  mysteriously  alive, 
alive  to  their  finger-tips.  It  was  as  if  in  compari- 
son all  other  women  acted  and  moved  in  a  kind 
of  half -consciousness.  It  was  as  if,  St.  George 
thought  vaguely,  one  were  to  step  through  the 
frame  of  a  pre-Raphaelite  tapestry  and  suddenly 
find  its   strange   women  rejoicing  in  fulfillment 


188  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

instead  of  yearning,  in  noon  instead  of  dusk. 
As  he  stood  looking  down  the  vast  chamber,  all 
springing  columns  and  light  lines  lifting  through 
the  honey-coloured  air,  it  smote  St.  George  that 
these  people,  instead  of  being  far  away,  were 
all  near,  surprisingly,  unbelievably  near  to  him, 
— in  a  way,  nearer  to  his  own  elusive  personality 
than  he  was  himself.  They  were  all  obviously  of 
his  own  class;  he  could  perfectly  imagine  his 
mother,  with  her  old  lace  and  Roman  mosaics, 
moving  at  home  among  them,  and  the  bishop, 
with  his  wise,  kindly  smile.  Yet  he  was  irre- 
sistibly reminded  of  a  certain  haunting  dream  of 
his  childhood  in  which  he  had  seemed  to  himself 
to  walk  the  world  alone,  with  every  one  else  allied 
against  him  because  they  all  knew  something  that 
he  did  not  know.  That  was  it,  he  thought  sud- 
denly, and  felt  his  pulse  quickening  at  the  intima- 
tion: They  all  knew  something  that  he  did  not 
know,  that  he  could  not  know.  But,  as  they 
swept  him  with  their  clear-eyed,  impersonal  look, 
a  look  that  seemed  in  some  exquisite  fashion  to 
take  no  account  of  individuality,  he  was  gratefully 
aware  of  a  curious  impression  that  they  would 
like  to  have  had  him  know,  too. 

"  They  wish  I  knew — they'd  rather  I  did  know," 
St.  George  found  himself  thinking  in  a  strange 
excitement,  "  if  only  I  could  know — if  only  I  could 
know." 

He  looked  about  him,  smiling  a  little  at  his  folly. 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  189 

He  saw  the  light  flash  on  Amory's  glasses  as  they 
turned  inquisitively  on  this  and  that,  and  some- 
how the  sight  steadied  him. 

"  Ah  well,"  he  assured  himself,  "I'll  look 
them  up  in  a  thousand  years  or  so,  and  we'll 
dine  together,  and  then  we'll  say:  '  Don't  you 
remember  how  I  didn't  know?  '  " 

Immediately  there  presented  himself  to  them 
a  little  man  who  proved  to  be  Balator,  lord-chief- 
commander  of  the  Royal  Golden  Guard,  and  now 
especially  directed  by  the  prince,  he  pleasantly 
told  them,  to  be  responsible  for  their  enter- 
tainment and  comfort  during  the  ceremony  to 
follow.  They  were,  in  fact,  his  guests  for  the 
evening,  but  St.  George  and  Amory  were  uncer- 
tain whether,  considering  his  office,  this  was  a 
high  honour  or  a  kind  of  exalted  durance.  How- 
ever, as  the  man  was  charming  the  doubt  was 
not  important.  He  had  an  attenuated  face,  so 
conveniently  brown  by  race  as  to  suggest  the  most 
soldierly  exposure,  and  he  had  great,  peaceable, 
slow-lidded  eyes.  He  was,  they  subsequently 
learned,  an  authority  upon  insect  life  in  Yaque, 
for  he  had  never  had  the  smallest  opportunity 
to  go  to  war. 

As  Balator  led  his  guests  to  their  seats  near 
the  throne  every  one  looked  on  them,  as  they 
passed,  with  the  serenest  fellowship,  and  no 
regard  persisted  longer  than  a  glance,  friendly 
and  fugitive.     Balator  himself  not  only  rcf  r.ined 


190  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

from  stoning  the  barbarians  with  commonplaces, 
but  he  did  not  so  much  as  mention  America  to 
them  or  treat  them  otherwise  than  as  compan- 
ions, as  if  his  was  not  only  the  cosmopolitanism 
that  knows  no  municipal  or  continental  aliens 
of  its  own  class,  but  a  kind  of  inter-dimensional 
cosmopolitanism  as  well. 

"  Which,"  said  Amory  afterward,  "  was  envia- 
ble. The  next  man  from  Trebizond  or  Saturn 
or  Fez  whom  I  meet  I'm  going  to  greet  and  treat 
as  if  he  lived  the  proverbial  '  twenty  minutes 
out.'  " 

A  great  clock  boomed  and  throbbed  through 
the  palace,  striking  an  hour  that  was  no  more 
intelligible  than  the  jargon  of  a  ship's  clock  to  a 
landsman.  Somewhere  an  orchestra  thrilled  into 
haunting  sound,  poignant  with  disclosures  barely 
missed.  Overhead,  through  the  mighty  rafters 
of  the  conical  roof,  the  moon  looked  down. 

"  That'll  be  the  same  old  moon,"  said  Amory. 
"By  Jove!     Won't  it?" 

"  It  will,  please  Heaven,"  said  St.  George  rest- 
lessly;  "  I  don't  know.     Will  it?  " 

Near  the  throne  was  seated  a  company  of 
dignitaries  who  wore  upon  their  breasts  great 
stars  and  were  soberly  dressed  in  a  kind  of 
scholar's  gown.  Some  whispered  together  and 
nodded  and  looked  as  solemn  as  tithing  men; 
and  others  were  feverishly  restless  and  continually 
took    papers    from    their    graceful    sleeves.     By 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  191 

developments  these  were  revealed  to  be  the 
High  Council  of  Yaque,  conservative  and  radical, 
even  in  dimensional  isolation.  Farther  back  rose 
tier  upon  tier  of  seats  sacred  to  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  the  ministry,  and  St.  George  even 
looked  hopelessly  and  mechanically  among  these 
for  the  face  that  he  sought. 

To  some  seats  slightly  elevated,  not  far  from 
the  dais,  his  attention  was  at  length  challenged 
by  an  upheaving  and  billowing  of  purple  and 
black.  He  looked,  and  in  the  same  instant 
what  seemed  to  have  been  a  kind  of  storm  centre 
resolved  itself  cloudily  into  Mrs.  Medora  Hastings, 
breathlessly  resuming  her  seat,  while  Mr.  Augustus 
Frothingham,  in  indescribably  gorgeous  apparel 
elaborately  bent  to  receive — and  a  member  of 
the  High  Council  bent  to  hand — two  glittering 
articles  which  St.  George  was  certain  were  side- 
combs.  There  the  lady  sat,  tilting  her  head  to 
keep  her  tortoise-shell  glasses  on  her  nose,  per- 
petually curving  their  chain  over  her  ear,  a  ges- 
ture by  which  the  side-combs  were  perpetually 
displaced.  If  the  island  people  had  been  painted 
purple,  St.  George  felt  sure  that  she  would  have 
acted  quite  the  same.  Personality  meant  nothing 
to  her — not,  as  with  them,  because  it  had  been 
merged  in  something  greater,  but  because,  with 
her,  it  was  overborne  by  self.  And  there  sat 
Mr.  Frothingham  (who  did  not  attend  the  play 
during  court  because  he  believed  that  a  man  of 


192  .  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

affairs  should  not  unduly  stimulate  the  imagina- 
tion), his  head  thrown  back  so  that  his  long 
hair  rested  on  his  amazing  collar,  his  hands  laid 
trimly  along  his  knees.  In  that  crystal  air, 
instinct  with  its  delicate,  dominant  implication 
of  things  imponderable,  the.  personality  of  each 
persisted  undisturbed,  in  a  kind  of  adamantine 
unconsciousness.  Again,  as  when  he  had  con- 
sidered the  soul  of  Rollo,  St.  George  smiled  a 
shade  bitterly.  Is  it  then  so  easy  to  persist,  he 
wondered?  Is  love's  uttermost  gift  so  little? 
But  as  the  music  swelled  with  premonitory  mean- 
ing, he  understood  something  that  its  very  transi- 
toriness  disclosed :  the  persistence  of  love, 
love's  mere  immortality,  is  the  dead  letter  of 
the  law  without  that  which  is  elusive,  imponder- 
able, even  evanescent  as  the  spirit  of  the  land 
to  which  he  had  come,  into  which  he  felt  him- 
self new-bom. 

Immediately,  bestowing  its  gift  of  altered  mood, 
other  music,  cut  by  the  lift  and  fall  of  trumpets, 
sounded  from  hidden  places  all  about  the  walls 
and  from  the  alcoves  of  the  lofty  roof.  Then  a 
veil  hanging  between  two  pillars  was  drawn  aside, 
and  the  prince's  train  appeared.  There  were  a 
detachment  of  the  guard,  splendid  in  their  unre- 
lieved gold,  and  the  officers  of  the  court,  at  their 
head  Cassyrus,  the  premier,  who  had  manifestly 
been  compounded  of  Heaven  to  be  a  drum-major, 
and  had  so  undeviating;  a  look  that  he  seemed 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  193 

always  to  have  been  caught,  red-handed,  at  his 
post.  Last  came  Prince  Tabnit,  dressed  in  pure 
white  save  for  a  collar  of  precious  stones  from 
which  hung  the  strange  green  gem  that  St. 
George  remembered.  His  clear  face  and  the 
whiteness  of  his  hair  lent  to  him  an  air  of  almost 
unearthly  distinction.  His  delicate  hands  wear- 
ing no  jewels  were  at  his  sides,  and  his  head  was 
magnificently  erect.  He  mounted  the  dais  as 
the  music  sank  to  silence,  and  without  preface 
began  to  speak. 

"  My  people,"  he  said,  and  St.  George  felt  him- 
self thrilling  with  the  strength  and  tenderness  of 
that  voice,  "  in  the  continuance  of  this  our  time 
of  trial  we  come  among  you  that  we  may  win 
strength  and  courage  from  your  presence.  Since 
one  mind  dwells  in  us  all,  we  have  no  need  of  words 
of  cheer.  That  no  message  from  his  Majesty,  the 
King,  has  come  to  us  is  known  to  you  all,  with 
mourning.  But  the  gods — to  whom  '  here  '  is 
the  same  as  '  there  ' — will  permit  the  possible, 
and  they  have  permitted  to  us  the  presence  of  the 
daughter  of  our  sovereign,  by  the  grace  of  the 
infinite,  heir  to  the  throne  of  Yaque.  In  two  days, 
should  his  Majesty  not  then  have  returned  to  his 
sorrowing  people,  she  will,  in  accordance  with  our 
custom,  be  crowned  Hereditary  Princess  of  Yaque 
and,  after  one  year.  Queen  of  Yaque  and  your 
rightful  sovereign." 

As  the  prince  paused,  a  little  breath  of  assent 


191  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

was  in  the  room,  more  potent  than  any  crudity 
of  applause. 

"  Next,"  pursued  the  prince,  "  we  would  invite 
your  attention  to  our  own  affairs,  which  are  of 
importance  solely  as  they  are  affected  by  the 
immemorial  tradition  of  the  House  of  the  Litany. 
Therefore,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  our 
predecessors  for  two  thousand  years,"  lightly  piw- 
sued  the  prince,  "  we  have  named  this  day  as  the 
day  of  our  betrothal.  Moreover,  this  is  deter- 
mined upon  in  justice  to  the  daughters  of  the 
twenty  peers  of  Yaque,  whose  marriage  the  law 
forbids  until  the  choice  of  the  head  of  the  House 
of  the  Litany  has  been  made  ..." 

St.  George  listened,  and  his  hope  soared  heaven- 
ward as  the  hope  of  young  love  will  soar,  in  spite 
of  itself,  at  the  mere  sight  of  open  sky.  The 
daughters  of  the  twenty  peers  of  Yaque!  Of 
course  they  were  to  be  considered.  Why  should 
he  fear  that,  because  Olivia  was  in  Yaque,  the  mere 
mention  of  a  betrothal  referred  to  Olivia?  He 
was  bold  enough  to  smile  at  his  fears,  to  smile 
even  when,  as  the  prince  ceased  speaking,  the 
music  sounded  again,  as  it  were  from  the  air,  in  a 
chorus  of  pure  young  voices  with  a  ripple  of 
unknown  strings  in  accompaniment. 

Suddenly,  at  the  opening  of  great  doors,  a 
flood  of  saffron  light  was  poured  upon  a  stair, 
and  at  the  summit  appeared  the  leisurely  head 
of  a  procession  which  the  two  men  were  destined 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  195 

never  to  forget.  Across  the  gallery  and  down 
the  stair — it  might  have  been  the  Golden  Stair 
linking  Near  with  Far — came  a  score  of  exquisite 
women  in  all  the  glory  of  their  youth,  of  perfect 
physical  beauty  and  splendid  strength  and  full- 
ness of  life;  and  the  wonder  was  not  their 
beauty  more  than  a  kind  of  dryad  delicacy  of 
that  beauty,  which  was  yet  not  frailty  but  a 
look  of  angelic  strength.  But  they  were  not 
remote — they  were  gloriously  human,  almost,  one 
would  say,  divinely  human,  all  gentle  movement 
and  warmth  and  tender  breath.  They  were  not 
remote,  save  as  one's  own  soul  would  be  remote 
by  its  very  excess  of  intimacy  with  life.  Little 
maids,  so  shy  that  their  actuality  was  certain, 
came  before  them  carrying  flowers,  and  these 
were  followed  by  youths  scattering  fragrant 
burning  powder  whose  fallen  flames  were 
instantly  pounced  upon  and  extinguished  by  small 
furry  lemurs  trained  to  lay  silver  discs  upon  the 
flames.  And  as  they  all  ranged  themselves 
about  the  throne  a  little  figure  appeared  at  the 
top  of  the  stairway  alone,  beneath  ,  the  lifted 
curtain. 

She  was  veiled;  but  the  elastic  step,  the  girlish 
grace,  the  poise  and  youthful  dignity  were  not  to  be 
mistaken.  The  room  whirled  round  St.  George, 
and  then  closed  in  about  him  and  grew  dark.  For 
this  was  the  woman  advancing  to  her  betrothal; 
from  the  manner  of  her  entrance  there  could  be 


196  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

no  doubt  of  that.  And  it  was  none  of  the 
daughters  of  the  twenty  peers.     It  was  Olivia. 

She  wore  a  trailing  gown  of  rainbow  hues,  more 
like  the  hues  of  water  than  of  texture,  and  the 
warm  light  fell  upon  these  as  she  descended  and 
variously  multiplied  them  to  beauty.  Her  little 
feet  were  sandaled  and  a  veil  of  indescribable 
thinness  was  wound  about  her  abundant  hair  and 
fell  across  her  face,  but  the  gold  of  her  hair 
escaped  the  veil  and  rippled  along  her  gown. 
Carven  chains  and  necklaces  were  upon  her  throat, 
and  bracelets  of  beaten  gold  and  jewels  upon  her 
arms.  About  her  forehead  glittered  a  jeweled 
band  with  pendent  gems  which,  at  her  moving, 
were  like  noon  sun  upon  water. 

As  he  realized  that  this  was  indeed  she  whom 
he  had  come  to  seek,  only  to  find  her  hedged  about 
with  difficulties — and  it  might  be  by  divinities — 
which  he  had  not  dreamed  of  coping,  a  kind 
of  madness  seized  St.  George.  The  lights  danced 
before  his  eyes,  and  his  impulse  had  to  do  with 
rushing  up  to  the  dais  and  crying  everybody 
defiance  but  Olivia.  On  the  moon-lit  deck  of 
The  Aloha  he  had  dreamed  out  the  island  and  the 
rescue  of  the  island  princess,  and  a  possible  home- 
going  on  his  yacht  to  a  home  about  which  he  had 
even  dared  to  dream,  too.  But  it  had  not  once 
occurred  to  him  to  forecast  such  a  contingency  as 
this,  or,  later,  so  to  explain  to  himself  Prince 
Tabnit's   change   of   purpose   in   permitting   lier 


TYRIAN  PURPLB  197 

recognition  as  Princess  of  Yaque— indeed,  if  what 
Jarvo  and  Akko  had  told  him  in  New  York  were 
accurate,  in  bringing  her  to  the  island  at  all. 
And  yet  what,  he  thought  crazily,  if  his  guess  at 
her  part  in  this  betrothal  were  far  wrong?  What 
if  her  father's  safety  were  not  the  only  considera- 
tion? What  if,  not  unnaturally  dazzled  by  the 
fairy-land  which  had  opened  to  her  .  .  ,  even  while 
he  feared,  St,  George  knew  far  better.  But  the 
number  of  terrors  possible  to  a  man  in  love  is 
equal  to  those  of  battle-fields. 

Amory  bent  toward  him,  murmuring  excitedly. 

"  Jupiter,"  he  said,  "  is  she  the  American  girl?  " 

"  She's  Miss  Holland,"  answered  St.  George 
miserably. 

*'  No — no,  not  the  princess,"  said  Amory,  "  the 
other." 

St.  George  looked.  On  the  stair  was  a  little 
figure  in  rose  and  silver — very  tiny,  very  fair,  and 
no  doubt  the  lawyer's  daughter. 

"  I  dare  say  it  is,"  he  told  him,  as  one  would 
say,  "  Now  what  the  deuce  of  it?  " 

Prince  Tabnit  had  risen  to  receive  Olivia,  and 
St.  George  had  to  see  him  extend  his  hand  and 
assist  her  beside  him  upon  the  dais.  In  the  absence 
of  her  father  she  was  obliged  to  stand  alone.  Then 
the  little  figure  in  rose  and  silver  and  one  of  the 
daughters  of  the  peers  advanced  and  lifted  her 
veil,  and  St.  George  wanted  to  shout  with  sudden 
exultation.     This  then  was  she — so  near,  so  near. 


198  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Surely  no  great  harm  could  come  to  them  so  long 
as  the  sea  and  the  mystery  of  the  island  no  longer 
lay  between  them.  Did  she  know  of  his  pres- 
ence? Although  he  and  Amory  were  seated  so 
near  the  throne,  they  were  at  one  side,  and  her 
clear,  pure  profile  was  turned  toward  them.  And 
Olivia  did  not  lift  her  eyes  throughout  the  prime 
minister's  long  address,  of  which  St.  George  and 
Amory,  so  lapped  were  they  in  wild  projects  and 
importunities,  heard  nothing  until,  uttered  with 
indescribable  pompousness,  as  if  Cassyrus  were 
a  dowager  and  had  made  the  match  himself,  the 
concluding  words  beat  upon  St.  George's  heart 
like  stones.  They  were  the  formal  announce- 
ment of  the  betrothal  of  Olivia,  daughter  of  his 
Majesty,  Otho  I  of  Yaque,  to  Tabnit,  Prince  of 
Yaque  and  Head  of  the  House  of  the  Litany. 

St.  George  saw  Prince  Tabnit  kneel  before 
Olivia  and  place  a  ring  upon  her  hand — no  doubt 
the  ring  which  had  betrothed  the  island  princesses 
for  three  thousand  years.  He  saw  the  High 
Council  standing  with  bowed  heads,  like  the  nec- 
essary archangels  in  an  old  painting;  he  caught 
the  flash  of  the  turquoise-blue  ephod  of  the 
head  of  the  religious  order,  as  the  benediction  was 
pronounced  by  its  wearer.  And  through  it  all 
he  said  to  himself  that  all  would  be  well  if  only 
she  understood,  if  only  she  had  the  supreme  self- 
consciousness  to  play  the  game.  After  all  he 
knew    her    so    little.      He    was    certain    of    her 


TYRIAN   PURPLE  199 

exquisite,  playful  fancy,  but  had  she  imagina- 
tion? Would  she  see  the  value  of  the  moment 
and  watch  herself  moving  through  it?  Or  would 
she  live  it  with  that  feminine,  unhumourous 
seriousness  which  is  woman's  weakness?  She 
had  an  exquisite  independence,  he  was  certain 
that  she  had  humour,  and  he  remembered  how 
alive  she  had  seemed  to  him,  receptive,  like  a 
woman  with  ten  senses.  But  after  all,  would 
not  her  graceful  sanity  of  view,  that  sense  of 
tradition  and  unerring  taste  which  he  so  rever- 
enced, yet  handicap  her  now  and  prevent  her 
from  daring  whatever  she  must  dare? 

Amory  was  beside  himself.  It  was  all  very 
well  to  feel  a  great  sympathy  for  St.  George,  but 
the  sight  was  more  than  journalistic  flesh  and 
blood  could  look  upon  with  sympathetic  calm. 

"An  American  girl!"  he  breathed  in  spite  of 
himself.  "  Why,  St.  George,  if  we  can  leave 
this  island  alive  — " 

"  Well,  you  won't,"  St.  George  explained,  with 
brutal  directness,  "  unless  you  can  cut  that." 

Before  silence  had  again  fallen,  the  prime 
minister,  all  his  fever  of  importance  still  upon 
him,  once  more  faced  the  audience.  This  time 
his  words  came  to  St.  George  like  a  thunderbolt : 

'*  In  three  days'  time,  at  noon,  in  this  the  Hall 
of  Kings,"  he  cried,  letting  each  phrase  fall  as  if 
he  were  its  proud  inventor,  "  immediately  fol- 
lowing the  official  recognition  of  Olivia,  daughter 


200  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

of  Otho  I,  as  Hereditary  Princess  of  Yaque,  there 
will  be  solemnized,  according  to  the  immemorial 
tradition  of  the  island  last  observed  six  hundred 
and  eighty-four  years  ago  by  Queen  Pentel- 
laria,  the  marriage  of  Olivia  of  Yaque,  to  his 
Highness,  Prince  Tabnit,  head  of  the  House  of 
the  Litany,  and  chief  administrator  of  justice. 
For  the  law  prescribes  that  no  unmarried  woman 
shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of  Yaque.  At  noon  of 
the  third  day  will  be  observed  the  double  ceremony 
of  the  recognition  and  the  marriage.  May  the 
gods  permit  the  possible." 

There  was  a  soft  insistence  of  music  from  above,  a 
stir  and  breath  about  the  room,  the  premier  backed 
away  to  his  seat,  and  St.  George,  even  with  the 
horrified  tightening  at  his  heart,  was  conscious 
of  a  vague  commotion  from  the  vicinity  of  Mrs. 
Medora  Hastings.  Then  he  saw  the  prince  rise 
and  turn  to  Olivia,  and  extend  his  hand  to  conduct 
her  from  the  hall.  The  great  banquet  room  beyond 
the  colonnade  was  at  once  thrown  open,  and 
there  the  court  circle  and  the  ministry  were 
to  gather  to  do  honour  to  the  new  princess, 
whom  Prince  Tabnit  was  to  lead  to  the  seat  at 
his  right  hand  at  the  table's  head. 

To  the  amazement  of  his  Highness,  Olivia  made 
no  movement  to  accept  the  hand  that  he  offered. 
Instead,  she  sat  slightly  at  one  side  of  the  great 
glittering  throne,  looking  up  at  him  with  some- 
thing like  the  faintest  conceivable  smile  which, 


TYRIAN  PURPLE  201 

while  one  saw,  became  once  more  her  exquisite, 
girHsh  gravity.  When  the  music  sank  a  Httle 
her  voice  sounded  above  it  with  a  sweet  dis- 
tinctness : 

"  One  moment,  if  you  please,  your  Highness," 
she  said  clearly. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  St.  George  had  heard 
her  voice  since  its  good-by  to  him  in  New  York. 
And  before  her  words  his  vague  fears  for  her  were 
triumphantly  driven.  The  spirit  that  he  had 
hoped  for  was  in  her  face,  and  something  else;  St. 
George  could  have  sworn  that  he  saw,  but  no 
one  else  could  have  seen  the  look,  a  glimpse  of 
that  delicate  roguery  that  had  held  him  captive 
when  he  had  breakfasted  with  her — several  hun- 
dred years  before,  was  it? — at  the  Boris.  Ah, 
he  need  not  have  feared  for  her,  he  told  himself 
exultantly.  For  this  was  Olivia — of  America — 
standing  in  a  company  of  the  women  who 
seemed  like  the  women  of  whom  men  dream, 
and  whose  presence,  save  in  glimpses  at  first 
meetings,  they  perhaps  never  wholly  realize.  These 
were  the  women  of  the  land  which  "  no  one  can 
define  or  remember."  And  yet,  as  he  watched 
her  now,  St.  George  was  gloriously  conscious 
that  Olivia  not  only  held  her  own  among  them, 
but  that  in  some  charm  of  vividness  and  of 
knowledge  of  laughter,  she  transcended  them  all. 

A  ripple  of  surprise  had  gone  round  the  room. 
For  all  the  air  of  the  ultimate  about  the  island- 


202  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

women,  St.  George  doubted  whether  ever  in  the 
three  thousand  years  of  Yaque's  history  a  woman 
had  raised  her  voice  from  that  throne  upon  a 
like  occasion.  And  such  a  tender,  beguiling, 
cajoling  little  voice  it  was.  A  voice  that  held 
little  remarques  upon  whatever  it  had  just  said, 
and  that  made  one  breathless  to  know  what 
would  come  next. 

"Bully!"  breathed  Amory,  his  eyes  shining 
behind    his    pince-nez. 

Prince  Tabnit  hesitated. 

"  If  the  princess  wishes  to  speak  with  us " 

he  began,  and  Olivia  made  a  charming  gesture 
of  dissent,  and  all  the  jewels  in  her  hair  and  upon 
her  white  throat  caught  the  light  and  were  set 
glittering, 

"  No,"  she  said  gently,  "  no,  your  Highness. 
I  wish  to  speak  in  the  presence  of  my  people." 

She  gave  the  "  my  "  no  undue  value,  yet  it 
fell  from  her  lips  with  delicious  audacity. 

"  Indeed,"  she  said,  "  I  think,  your  Highness, 
that  I  will  speak  to  my  people  myself." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   END   OF  THE    EVENING 

The  Hall  of  Kings  was  very  still  as  Olivia  rose. 
She  stood  with  one  hand  touching  her  veil's  hem, 
the  other  resting  on  the  low,  carved  arm  of  the 
throne,  and  at  the  coming  and  going  of  her 
breath  her  jewels  made  the  light  lambent  with 
the  indeterminate  colours  of  those  strange,  joyous 
banners  floating  far  above  her  head. 

Her  voice  was  very  sweet  and  a  little  tremulous 
— and  it  is  the  very  grace  of  a  woman's  courage 
that  her  voice  tremble  never  so  slightly.  It 
seemed  to  St.  George  that  he  loved  her  a  thousand 
times  the  more  for  that  mere  persuasive  wavering 
of  her  words.  And,  while  he  listened  to  what  he 
felt  to  be  the  prelude  of  her  message,  it  seemed  to 
him  that  he  loved  her  another  thousand  times 
the  more — what  heavenly  ease  there  is  in  this 
arithmetic  of  love — for  the  tender  meaning 
which,  upon  her  lips,  her  father's  name  took  on. 
When,  speaking  with  simplicity  and  directness  of 
the  subject  that  lay  uppermost  in  the  minds  of 
them   all,  she   asked   their  utmost  endeavour  in 

203 


204  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

their  common  grief,  it  was  clear  that  what  she 
said  transcended  whatever  phenomena  of  mere 
experience  lay  between  her  and  those  who  heard 
her,  and  they  understood.  The  rapport  was 
like  that  among  those  who  hear  one  music. 
But  St.  George  listened,  and  though  his  mind 
applauded,  it  ran  on  ahead  to  the  terrifying  future. 
This  was  all  very  well,  but  how  was  it  to  help  her 
in  the  face  of  what  was  to  happen  in  three  days' 
time? 

"  Therefore,"  Olivia's  words  touched  tranquilly 
among  the  flying  ends  of  his  own  thought,  "  I 
am  come  before  you  to  make  that  sacrifice  which 
my  love  for  my  father,  and  my  grief  and  my 
anxiety  demand.  I  count  upon  your  support, 
as  he  would  count  upon  it  for  me.  I  ask  that  one 
heart  be  in  us  all  in  this  common  sorrow.  And 
I  am  come  with  the  unalterable  determination 
both  to  renounce  my  throne  there" — never  was 
anything  more  enchanting  than  the  way  those 
two  words  fell  from  her  lips — "  and  to  postpone 
my  marriage  " — there  never  was  anything  more 
profoundly  disquieting  than  those  two  words  in 
such  a  connection — "  until  such  time  as,  by  your 
effort  and  by  my  own,  we  may  have  news  of 
my  father,  the  king;  and  until,  by  your  effort 
or  by  my  own,  the  Hereditary  Treasure  shall 
be  restored." 

So,  serenely  and  with  the  most  ingenuous  con- 
fidence,  did    the    daughter    of  the  absent  King 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  205 

Otho  make  disposition  of  the  hour's  events. 
Amory  leaned  forward  and  feverishly  polished 
his  pince-nez. 

"  What   do   you   think   of   that?  "   he   put  it, 
beneath  his  breath,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that?  " 
St.    George,    watching    that    little    figure— so 
adorably,  almost  pathetically  little  in  its  corner  of 
the  great  throne— knew  that  he  had  not  counted 
upon  her  in  vain.     Over  there  on  the  raised  seats 
Mrs.  Medora  Hastings  and  Mr.  Augustus  Froth- 
ingham  were  looking  on  matters  as  helplessly  as 
they  would  look  at  a  thunder-storm  or  a  circus 
procession,  and  they  were  taking  things  quite  as 
seriously.     But  Olivia,  in  spite  of  the  tragedy  that 
the  hour  held    for  her,  was  giving  the  moment 
its  exact  value,  guiltless  of  the  feminine  immo- 
rality   of    panic.      To    give   a    moment    its   due 
without    that    panic,    is,    St.    George    knew,    a 
kind  of  genius,  like  creating  beauty,  and  divining 
another's  meaning,  and  redeeming  the  spirit  of  a 
thing  from  its  actuality.     But  by  that  time  the 
arithmetic  of  his  love  was  by  way  of  being  in  too 
many  figures  to  talk  about.     Which  is  the  proper 
plight  of  love. 

Every  one  had  turned  toward  Prince  Tabnit,and 
as  St.  George  looked  it  smote  him  whimsically  that 
that  impassive  profile  was  like  the  profiles  upon 
the  ancient  coins  which,  almost  any  day,  might 
be  cast  up  by  a  passing  hoof  on  the  island  mold. 
Indeed,   St.   George  thought,   one  might  almost 


206  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

have  spent  the  prince's  profile  at  a  fig-stall,  and 
the  vender  would  have  jingled  it  among  his  silver 
and  never  have  detected  the  cheat.  But  in  the 
next  moment  the  joyous  mounting  of  his  blood 
running  riot  in  audacious  whimsies  was  checked 
by  the  even  voice  of  the  prince  himself. 

"  The  gratitude  and  love  of  this  people,"  he 
said  slowly,  "  are  due  to  the  daughter  of  its 
sovereign  for  what  she  has  proposed.  It  is, 
however,  to  be  remembered  that  by  our  ancient 
law  the  State  and  every  satrapy  therein  shall 
receive  no  service,  whether  of  blood  or  of  bond, 
from  an  alien.  The  king  himself  could  serve 
us  only  in  that  he  was  king.  To  his  daughter  as 
Princess  of  Yaque  and  wife  of  the  Head  of  the 
House  of  the  Litany,  this  service  in  the  search 
for  the  sovereign  and  the  Hereditary  Treasure 
will  be  permitted,  but  she  may  serve  us  only 
from  the  throne." 

"  Upon  my  soul,  then  that  lets  us  out,"  mur- 
mured Amory. 

And  St.  George  remembered  miserably  how,  in 
that  dingy  house  in  McDougle  Street,  he  and 
Olivia  had  listened  once  before  to  the  recital  of 
that  law  from  the  prince's  lips.  If  they  had 
known  how  next  they  would  hear  it!  If  they 
had  known  then  what  that  law  would  come  to 
mean  to  her!  What  could  she  do  now- -what 
could  even  Olivia  do  now  but  assent? 

She  could  do  a  great  deal,  it  appeared.     She 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  207 

could  incline  her  head,  with  a  bewitching  droop 
of  eyelids,  and  look  up  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the 
prince  with  a  serenity  that  was  like  a  smile. 

"  In  my  country,"  said  Olivia  gravely,  "  when 
anything  special  arises  they  frequently  find  that 
there  is  no  law  to  cover  it.  It  would  seem  to  us  " 
— it  was  as  though  the  humility  of  that  "  us  " 
took  from  her  superb  daring — "  that  this  is  a 
matter  requiring  the  advice  of  the  High  Council. 
Therefore,"  asked  little  Olivia  gently,  "  will  you 
not  appoint,  your  Highness,  a  special  session  of  the 
High  Council  to  convene  at  noon  to-morrow,  to 
consider  our  proposition?  " 

There  was  a  scarcely  perceptible  stir  among 
the  members  of  the  High  Council,  for  even  the 
liberals  were,  it  would  seem,  taken  aback 
by  a  departure  which  they  themselves  had  not 
instituted.  Olivia,  still  in  submission  to  tradi- 
tion which  she  could  not  violate,  had  gained  the 
time  for  which  she  hoped.  With  a  grace 
that  was  like  the  conferring  of  a  royal  favour, 
Prince  Tabnit  appointed  the  meeting  of  the 
High  Council  for  noon  on  the  following  day, 

"  May  the  gods  permit  the  possible,"  he  added, 
and  once  more  extended  his  hand  to  Olivia.  This 
time,  with  lowered  eyes,  she  gave  him  the  tips 
of  her  fingers  and,  as  the  beckoning  music  swelled 
a  delicate  prelude,  she  stepped  from  the  dais  and 
suffered  the  prince  to  lead  her  toward  the  banquet 
hall. 


208  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Amory  drew  a  long  breath,  and  it  came  to  St. 
George  that  if  he,  Amory,  said  anything  about 
what  he  would  give  if  he  had  a  leased  wire  to  the 
Sentinel  Office,  there  would  no  longer  be  room 
on  the  island  for  them  both.  But  Amory  said 
no  such  thing.  Instead,  he  looked  at  St. 
George  in  distinct  hesitation. 

"I  say,"  he  brought  out  finally,  "St.  George, 
by  Jove,  do  you  know,  it  seems  to  me  I've  seen 
Miss  Frothingham  before.  And  how  jolly  beauti- 
ful she  is,"  he  added  almost  reverently. 

"  Maybe  it  was  when  you  were  a  Phoenician 
galley  slave  and  she  went  by  in  a  trireme,"  offered 
St.  George,  trying  to  keep  in  sight  the  bright 
hair  and  the  floating  veil  beyond  the  press  of  the 
crowd.  Would  he  see  Olivia  and  would  he  be 
able  to  speak  with  her,  and  did  she  know  he 
was  there,  and  would  she  be  angry?  Ah  well, 
she  could  not  possibly  be  angry,  he  thought; 
but  with  all  this  in  his  mind  it  was  hardly  reason- 
able of  Amory  to  expect  him  to  speculate  on  where 
Miss  Frothingham  might  have  been  seen  before. 
If  it  weren't  for  this  Balator  now,  St.  George 
said  to  himself  restlessly,  and  suddenly  observed 
that  Balator  was  expecting  them  to  follow  him. 
So,  in  the  slow-moving  throng,  all  soft  hues  and 
soft  laughter,  they  made  their  way  toward  the 
colonnade  that  cut  off  the  banquet  room.  And 
at  every  step  St.  George  thought,"  she  has  passed 
here — and  here — and  here,"   and   all  the  while, 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  209 

through  the  mighty  open  rafters  in  the  conical 
roof,  were  to  be  seen  those  strange  banners  joy- 
ously floating  in  the  delicate,  alien  light.  The 
wine  of  the  moment  flowed,  in  his  veins,  and  he 
moved  under  strange  banners,  with  a  strange 
ecstasy  in  his  heart. 

Therefore,  suddenly  to  hear  Rollo's  voice  at 
his  shoulder  came  as  a  distinct  shock. 

"  It's  one  of  them  little  brown  'uns,  sir,"  Rollo 
announced  in  his  best  tone  of  mystery.  "  He's 
settin'  up  stairs,  sir,  an'  he's  all  fer  settin'  there  till 
he  sees  you.    He  says  it's  most  important,  sir." 

Amory  heard. 

"  Shall  I  go  up?  "  he  asked  eagerly;  "  I'd  like 
a  whiff  of  a  pipe,  anyway.  It'll  be  something  to 
tie  to." 

"  Will  you  go?  "  asked  St.  George  in  undis- 
guised gratitude.  He  was  prepared  to  accept 
most  risks  rather  than  to  lose  sight  of  the  star 
he  was  following. 

With  a  word  to  Balator  who  explained  where, 
on  his  return,  he  could  find  them,  Amory  turned 
with  Rollo,  and  slipped  through  the  crowd.  Hav- 
ing reasons  of  his  own  for  getting  back  to  the 
hall  below,  Amory  was  prepared  to  speed  well 
the  interview  with  "the  little  brown  'un  "  who, 
he  supposed,  was  Jarvo. 

It  was  Jarvo — Jarvo,  in  a  state  of  excitement, 
profound  and  incredible.  The  little  man,  from 
the  annoyingly  serene  mode  of  mind  in  which  he 


210  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

had  left  them,  was  become,  for  him,  almost 
agitated.  He  sprang  up  from  a  divan  in  the 
great  dressing-room  of  their  apartment  and 
approached  Amory  almost  without  greeting, 

"  Adon,  adon,"  he  said  earnestly,  "  you  must 
leave  the  palace  at  once — at  once.     But  to-night ! " 

Amory  hunted  for  his  pipe,  found  and  lighted 
it,  pressing  a  cigarette  upon  Jarvo  who  accepted, 
and  held  it,  alight,  in  the  palm  of  his  hand. 

"  To-night,"  he  repeated,  as  if  it  were  a  game. 

"  Ah  well,  now,"  said  Amory  reasonably,  "  why, 
Jarvo?     And  we  so  comfortable." 

The  little  man  looked  at  Amory  beseechingly. 

"  I  know  what  I  know,"  he  said  earnestly, 
"  many  things  will  happen.  There  is  danger 
about  the  palace  to-night — danger  it  may  be  for 
you.  I  do  not  know  all,  but  I  come  to  warn 
you,  and  to  warn  the  adon  who  has  been  kind 
to  us.  You  have  brought  us  here  when  we 
were  alone  in  America, ' '  said  Jarvo  simply.  ' '  Akko 
and  I  will  help  you  now.  It  was  Akko  who 
remembered  the  tower." 

Amory  looked  down  at  the  bowl  of  his  pipe, 
and  shook  his  vestas  in  their  box,  and  turned 
his  eyes  to  Rollo,  listening  near  by  with  an  air 
of  the  most  intense  abstraction.  Yes,  all  these 
things  were  real.  They  were  all  real,  and  here 
was  he,  Amory,  smoking.  And  yet  what  was  all 
this  amazing  talk  about  danger  in  the  palace, 
and  being  warned,  and  remembering  the  tower? 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  211 

"  Anybody  would  think  I  was  Crass,  writing 
head -lines,"  he  told  himself,  and  blew  a  cloud  of 
smoke  through  which  to  look  at  Jarvo. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about?  "  he  demanded 
sternly. 

Jarvo  had  a  little  key  in  his  hand,  which  he 
shook.  The  key  was  on  a  slender,  carved  ring, 
and  it  jingled.  And  when  he  offered  it  to  him 
Amory  abstractedly  took  it. 

"  See,  adon,"  said  Jarvo,  "  see!  In  the  ilex 
grove  on  the  road  that  we  took  last  night  there 
is  a  white  tower — it  may  be  that  you  have  noticed 
it  to-day.  That  tower  is  empty,  and  this  is 
the  key.  There  may  be  guards,  but  I  shall  know 
how  to  pass  among  them.  You  must  come  with 
me  there  to-night,  the  three.  Even  then  it  may 
be  too  late,  I  do  not  know.  The  gods  will  per- 
mit the  possible.  But  this  I  know:  the  Royal 
Guard  are  of  the  lahnas,  on  whom  the  tax  to 
make  good  the  Hereditary  Treasure  will  fall 
most  heavily.  They  are  filled  with  rage  against 
your  people — ^you  and  the  king  who  is  of  your 
people.  I  do  not  know  what  they  will  do,  but 
you  are  not  safe  for  one  moment  in  the  palace. 
I  come  to  warn  you." 

Amory's  pipe  went  out.  He  sat  pulling  at  it 
abstractedly,  trying  to  fit  together  what  St. 
George  had  told  him  of  the  Hereditary  Treasure 
situation.  And  more  than  at  any  other  time 
since  his  arrival  on  the  island  his  heart  leaped  up 


212  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

at  the  prospect  of  promised  adventure.  What  if 
St.  George's  romantic  apostasy  were  not,  after  all, 
to  spoil  the  flavour  of  the  kind  of  adventure  for 
which  he,  Amory,  had  been  hoping?  He  leaned 
eagerly  forward. 

"  Wliat  would  you  suggest?  "  he  said. 

Jarvo's  eyes  brightened.  At  once  he  sprang  to 
his  feet  and  stood  before  Amory,  taking  soft  steps 
here  and  there  as  he  talked,  in  movement  graceful 
and  tenuous  as  the  greyhound  of  which  he  had 
reminded  St.  George. 

"  In  the  palace  yard,"  explained  the  little  man 
rapidly,  "  is  a  motor  which  came  from  Melita, 
bringing  guests  for  the  ceremony  of  to-night. 
They  will  remain  in  the  palace  until  after  the 
marriage  of  the  prince,  two  days  hence.  But 
the  motor — that  must  go  back  to-night  to  Melita, 
adon.  I  have  made  for  myself  permission  to  take 
it  there.  But  you — the  three — must  go  with  me. 
At  the  tower  in  the  ilex  grove  I  shall  leave  you, 
and  I  shall  return.     Is  this  good?  " 

"  Excellent.  But  what  afterward ?  "  demanded 
Amory.    "Are  we  all  to  keep  house  in  the  tower?  " 

Jarvo  shook  his  head,  like  a  man  who  has 
thought  of  everything. 

"  Through  to-morrow,  yes,"  he  said,  "  but 
to-morrow  night,  when  the  dark  falls " 

He  bent  forward  and  spoke  softly. 

"  Did  not  the  adon  wish  to  ascend  the  moun- 
tain? "  he  asked, 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  213 

"  Rather,"    said    Amory,     "  but    how,    good 
heavens?  " 

"  I  and  Akko  wish  to  ascend  also;  the  prince  has 
sent  us  no  message,  and  we  fear  him,"  said  Jarvo 
simply.  "  There  are  on  the  island,  ad6n,  six 
carriers,  trained  from  birth  to  make  the  ascent. 
They  are  the  sons  of  those  whose  duty  it  was  to 
ascend,  and  they  the  sons  for  many  generations. 
The  trail  is  very  steep,  very  perilous.  Six  were 
taught  to  go  up  with  messages  long  before  the 
knowledge  of  the  wireless  way,  long  before 
the  flight  of  the  airships.  They  are  become 
a  tradition  of  the  island.  It  is  with  them 
that  you  must  ascend  —  if  you  have  no 
fear." 

"  Fear!  "  cried  Amory.     "  But  these  men,  what 
of  them?     They  are  in  the  employ  of  the  State. 
How  do  you  know  they  will  take  us?  " 
Jarvo  dropped  his  eyes. 

"  I  and  Akko,"  he  said  quietly,  "  we  are  two  of 
these  six  carriers,  adon." 

Then  Amory  leaped  up,  scattering  the  ashes  of 
his  pipe  over  the  tiles.  This,  then,  was  what  was 
the  matter  with  the  feet  of  the  two  men,  about 
which  they  had  all  speculated  on  the  deck  of  The 
Aloha,  the  feet  trained  from  birth  to  make  the 
ascent    of    the    steep    trail,    feet    become    long, 

tenuous,  almost  prehensile 

"It's   miracles,    that's   what   it   is,"    declared 
Amory  solemnly.   ' '  How  on  earth  did  they  come  to 


214  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

take  you  to  New  York?  "  he  could  not  forbear 
asking. 

"  The  prince  knew  nothing  of  your  country, 
adon,"  answered  Jarvo  simply.  "  He  might  have 
needed  us  to  enter  it." 

"To  climb  the  custom-house,"  said  Amory 
abstractedly,  and  laughed  out  suddenly  in  sheer 
light-heartedness.  Here  was  come  to  them  an 
undertaking  to  which  St.  George  himself  must 
warm  as  he  had  warmed  at  the  prospect  of  the 
voyage.  To  go  up  the  mountain  to  the  thres- 
hold of  the  king's  palace,  where  lived  the  daughter 
of  the  king. 

Amory  bent  himself  with  a  will  to  mastering 
each  detail  of  the  little  man's  proposals.  Rollo, 
they  decided,  was  at  once  to  make  ready  a  few 
belongings  in  the  oil-skins.  Immediately  after 
the  banquet  St.  George  and  Amory  were 
to  mingle  with  the  throng  and  leave  the 
palace — no  difficult  matter  in  the  press  of 
the  departures — and,  on  the  side  of  the  court- 
yard beneath  the  windows  of  the  banquet 
room,  Jarvo,  already  joined  by  Rollo,  would 
be  awaiting  them  in  the  motor  bound  for 
Melita. 

"  It  sounds  as  if  it  couldn't  be  done,"  said 
Amory  in  intense  enjoyment.     "It's  bully." 

He  paced  up  and  down  the  room,  talking  it 
over.  He  folded  his  arms,  and  looked  at  the 
matter  from  all  sides  and  wondered,  as  touching  a 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  215 

Story  being  "  covered  "  for  Chillingworth,  whether 
he  were  leaving  anything  unthought. 

"  Chillingworth!  "  he  said  to  himself  in  ecstasy. 
"Wouldn't  Chillingworth  dote  to  idolatry  upon 
this  sight?  " 

Then  Amory  stood  still,  facing.,gomething  that 
he  had  not  seen  before.  He  had  come,  in  his  walk, 
upon  a  little  table  set  near  the  room's  entrance, 
and  bearing  a  decanter  and  some  cups. 

"  Hello,"  he  said,  "  Rollo,  where  did  this  come 
from?  " 

Rollo  came  forward,  velvet  steps,  velvet  press- 
ing together  of  his  hands,  face  expressionless  as 
velvet  too. 

"  A  servant  of  'is  'ighness,  sir,"  he  said — 
Rollo  did  that  now  and  then  to  let  you  know  that 
his  was  the  blood  of  valets — "  left  it  some  time 
ago,  with  the  compliments  of  the  prince.  It 
looks  like  a  good,  nitzy  Burgundy,  sir,"  added 
Rollo  tolerantly,  "  though  the  man  did  say  it  was 
bottled  in  something  B.  C,  sir,  and  if  it  was  it's 
most  likely  flat.  You  can't  trust  them  vintages 
much  farther  back  than  the  French  Revolootion, 
beggin'  your  pardon,  sir." 

Amory  absently  lifted  the  decanter,  and  then 
looked  at  it  with  some  curiosity.  The  decanter 
was  like  a  vase,  ornamented  with  gold  medallions 
covered  with  exquisite  and  precise  engraving  of 
great  beauty  and  variety  of  design.  Serpents, 
men  contending  with  lions,  sacred  trees  and  apes 


216  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

were  chased  in  the  gold,  and  the  little  cups  of 
sard  were  engraved  in  pomegranates  and  segments 
of  fruit  and  pendent  acorns,  and  were  set  with 
cones  of  cornelian.  The  cups  were  joined  by  a 
long  cord  of  thick  gold. 

Amory  set  his  hand  to  the  little  golden  stopper, 
perhaps  hermetically  sealed,  he  thought  idly,  at 
about  the  time  of  the  accidental  discovery  of  glass 
itself  by  the  Phoenicians.  Amory  was  not  imag- 
inative, but  as  he  thought  of  the  possible  age  of 
the  wine,  there  lay  upon  him  that  fascination 
communicable  from  any  link  between  the  present 
and  the  living  past. 

"  Solomon  and  Sargon,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  the  geese  in  the  capitol,  Marathon,  Alexander, 
Carthage,  the  Norman  conquest,  Shakespeare  and 
Miss  Frothingham!  " 

He  smiled  and  twisted  the  carven  stopper. 

"  And  the  girl  is  alive,"  he  said  almost  wonder- 
ingly.  "  There  has  been  so  much  Time  in  the 
world,  and  yet  she  is  alive  now.  Down  there  in 
the  banquet  room." 

The  odour  of  the  contents  of  the  vase,  spicy, 
penetrating,  delicious,  crept  out,  and  he  breathed 
it  gratefully.  It  was  like  no  odour  that  he 
remembered.  This  was  nothing  like  Rollo's 
"  good,  nitzy  Burgundy  " — this  was  something 
infinitely  more  wonderful.  And  the  odour — the 
odour  was  like  a  draught.  And  wasn't  this  the 
wine  of   wines,  he   asked  himself,  to   give   them 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  217 

courage,  exultation,  the  most  superb  daring 
when  they  started  up  that  delectable  moimtain? 
St.  George  must  know ;   he  would  think  so  too. 

"  Oh,  I  say,"  said  Amory  to  himself,  "  we 
must  put  some  strength  in  Jarvo's  bones  too — 
poor  little  brick!  " 

With  that  Amory  drew  the  carven  stopper, 
fitted  in  the  little  funnel  that  hung  about  the  neck 
of  the  vase,  poured  a  half-finger  of  the  wine  in 
each  cup,  and  lifted  one  in  his  hand.  But  the 
mere  odour  was  enough  to  make  a  man  live 
ten  lives,  he  thought,  smiling  at  his  own  strange 
exultation.  He  must  no  more  than  touch  it  to 
his  lips,  for  he  wanted  a  clear  head  for  what  was 
coming. 

"  Come,  Jarvo,"  he  cried  gaily — was  he  shout- 
ing, he  wondered,  and  wasn't  that  what  he  was 
trying  to  do — to  shout  to  make  some  far-away 
voice  answer  him?  "Come  and  drink  to  the 
health  of  the  prince.  I.ong  may  he  live,  long 
may  he  live — without  us !  " 

Amory  had  stood  with  his  back  to  the  little 
brown  man  while  he  poured  the  wine.  As  he 
turned,  he  lifted  one  cup  to  his  lips  and  Rollo 
gravely  presented  the  other  to  Jarvo.  But 
with  a  bound  that  all  but  upset  the  velvet  valet, 
the  little  man  cleared  the  space  between  him  and 
Amory  and  struck  the  cup  from  Amory 's  hand. 

"Adon!"  he  cried  terribly,  "  adon!  Do  not 
drink — do  not  drink!  " 


218  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

The  precious  liquid  splashed  to  the  floor  with 
the  falling  cup  and  ran  red  about  the  tiles. 
Instantly  a  powerful  and  delightful  fragrance 
rose,  and  the  thick  fumes  possessed  the  air. 
Amory  threw  out  his  hands  blindly,  caught  dizzily 
at  Rollo,  and  was  half  dragged  by  Jarvo  to  the 
open  window. 

"  Oh,  I  say,  sir — "  burst  out  Rollo,  more  upset 
over  the  loss  of  the  wine  than  he  was  alarmed 
at  the  occurrence.  If  it  came  to  losing  a  good, 
nitzy  Burgundy,  Rollo  knew  what  that  meant. 

"  Adon,"  cried  Jarvo,  shaking  Amory 's  shoul- 
ders, "  did  you  taste  the  liquor — tell  me — the 
liquor — did  you  taste?  " 

Amory  shook  his  head.  Jarvo's  face  and  the 
hovering  Rollo  and  the  whole  room  were  envel- 
oped in  mist,  and  the  wine  was  hot  on  his  lips 
where  the  cup  had  touched  them.  Yet 
while  he  stood  there,  with  that  permeating  fra- 
grance in  the  air,  it  came  to  him  vaguely  that 
he  had  never  in  his  life  known  a  more  perfectly 
delightful  moment.  If  this,  he  said  to  him- 
self vaguely,  was  what  they  meant  by  wine  in 
the  old  days,  then  so  far  as  his  own  experience 
went,  the  best  "  nitzy  "  Burgundy  was  no  more 
than  a  flabby,  vin  ordinaire  beside  it.  Not  that 
"  flabby  "  was  what  he  meant  to  call  it,  but  that 
was  the  word  that  came.  For  he  felt  as  if  no 
less  than  six  men  were  flowing  in  his  veins,  he 
summed  it  up  to  himself  triumphantly. 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  219 

But  after  all,  the  effect  was  only  momentary. 
Almost  as  quickly  as  those  strange  fumes  had 
arisen  they  were  dissipated.  And  when  presently 
Amory  stood  up  unsteadily  from  the  seat  of  the 
window,  he  could  see  clearly  enough  that  Jarvo, 
with  terrified  eyes,  was  turning  the  vase  in  his 
hands. 

"  It  is  the  same,"  he  was  saying,  "  it  must  be 
the  same.  The  gods  have  permitted  the  possible. 
I  was  here  to  tell  you." 

"  Tell  me  what?  "  demanded  Amory  with 
ungrateful  irritation.  "  Is  the  stuff  poison?  " 
he  asked,  tottering  in  spite  of  himself  as  he 
crossed  the  floor  toward  him.  But  Jarvo 
turned  his  face,  and  upon  it  was  such  an 
incongruous  terror  that  Amory  involuntarily 
stood  still. 

"  There  are  known  to  be  two,"  said  Jarvo, 
holding  the  vase  at  arm's  length,  "  and  the  one 
is  abundant  life,  if  the  draught  is  not  over- 
measured.  But  the  other  is  ten  thousand  times 
worse  than  death." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  cried  Amory  roughly. 
"  What  are  you  talking  about?  If  the  stuff  is 
poison  can't  you  say  so?  " 

Jarvo  looked  at  him  swiftly. 

"  These  things  are  not  spoken  aloud  in  Yaque," 
he  said  simply,  and  after  that  he  held  his  peace. 
Amory  threatened  him  and  laughed  at  him, 
but    Jarvo    shook    his    head.      At    last    Amory 


220  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

scoffed  at  the  whole  matter  and  stretched  out  his 
hand  for  the  vase. 

"  Come,"  he  said,  "  at  all  events  I'll  take  it 
with  me.  It  can't  be  very  much  worse  than  the 
American  liqueurs." 

"  My  word  for  it,  sir,  beggin'  your  pardon," 
said  Rollo  earnestly,  "it's  a  kind  of  what  you 
might  call  med-i-eval  Burgundy,  sir." 

"  It  is  not  well,"  said  Jarvo,  handing  the  vase 
with  reluctance,  "  yet  take  it — ^but  see  that  it 
touches  no  lips.     I  charge  you  that,  adon." 

Amory  smiled  and  slipped  the  little  vase  in  his 
coat  pocket. 

"It's  all  right,"  he  said,  "  I  won't  let  it  get 
away  from  me.  I  can  find  my  legs  now;  I'll  go 
back  down.  Look  sharp,  Rollo.  Be  down  there 
with  the  oil-skins.  We  put  on  this  Tyrian  purple 
stuff  over  the  whole  outfit,"  he  explained  to  Jarvo, 
"  and  I  suppose,  you  know,  that  you  can  get  both 
robes  back  here  for  us,  if  we  escape  in  them?  " 

"  Assuredly,  adon,"  said  Jarvo,  "  and  you  must 
escape  without  delay.  This  wine  must  mean 
that  the  prince,  too,  wishes  you  harm.  Now 
let  me  be  before  you  for  a  little,  so  that  no  one 
may  see  us  together.  I  shall  go  now,  imme- 
diately, to  the  motor — it  is  waiting  already  by 
the  wall  on  the  side  of  the  courtyard  opposite 
the  windows  of  the  banquet  hall.  I  shall  not 
fail  you." 

"  On  the  side  of    the   courtyard    opposite    the 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  221 

windows  of  the  banquet  room,"  repeated  Amory. 
"Thanks,  Jarvo.  You're  all  kinds  of  a  good 
fellow." 

"  Yes,  adon,"  gravely  assented  the  little  man 
from  the  threshold. 

Ten  minutes  later  Amory  followed.  Already 
Rollo  had  packed  the  oil-skins,  and  Amory,  his 
nerves  steadied  and  the  excitement  of  all  that  the 
night  promised  come  upon  him,  hurried  before 
him  down  the  corridor,  his  thoughts  divided  in 
their  allegiance  between  the  delight  of  telling 
St.  George  what  was  toward,  and  the  new  and 
alluring  delight  of  seeing  Antoinette  Frothingham 
near  at  hand  in  the  banquet  room.  After  all,  he 
had  had  only  the  vaguest  glimpse  of  a  little  figure 
in  rose  and  silver,  and  he  doubted  if  he  could  tell 
her  from  the  princess,  but  for  the  interpreting  gown. 

Amory  looked  up  with  an  irrepressible  thrill  of 
delight.  He  was  just  at  that  moment  crossing 
the  high  white  audience-hall,  the  anteroom 
to  the  Hall  of  Kings — he,  Amory,  in  Tyrian 
purple  garments.  If  anything  were  needed  to 
complete  the  picture  it  would  be  to  meet  face  to 
face,  there  in  that  big,  lonely  room,  a  little  figure  in 
rose  and  silver.  It  made  his  heart  beat  even  to 
think  of  the  possibilities  of  that  situation.  He 
skirted  the  Hall  of  Kings,  and  stood  in  one  of 
the  archways  of  the  colonnade,  facing  the 
banquet  room. 

The  banquet-table  extended  about  three  side'> 


222  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

of  the  room,  whose  centre  the  guests  faced.  The 
middle  space  was  left  pure,  un vexed  by  columns 
or  furnishing.  At  the  room's  far  end  Amory 
glimpsed  the  prince,  at  his  side  Olivia's  white 
veil,  and  her  women  about  her;  and,  nearer,  St. 
George  and  Balator  in  the  place  appointed.  A 
guard  came  to  conduct  him,  and  he  crossed 
to  his  seat  and  sank  down  with  the  look  that 
could  be  made  to  mean  whatever  Amory 
meant. 

"  I  expect  to  be  served,"  murmured  the  jour- 
nalist in  him,  "  by  beautiful  tame  megatheriums, 
in  sashes.     And  is  that  glyptodon  salad?  " 

St.  George's  eyes  were  upon  the  guests,  so 
tranquilly  seated,  aware  of  the  hour. 

"  I  fancy,"  he  said  in  half -voice,  "  that  presently 
we  shall  see  little  flames  issuing  from  their  hair, 
as  there  used  from  the  hair  of  the  ladies  in  Wer- 
ner's ballets." 

Then  as  Balator  leaned  toward  him  in  his 
splendid  leisure,  fostering  his  charm,  there  came 
an  amazing  interruption. 

The  low  key  of  the  room  was  electrically  raised 
by  a  cry,  loosed  from  some  other  plight  of  being, 
like  an  odour  of  burning  encroaching  upon  a 
garden. 

.  "  Why  have  you  not  waited?  "  some  one  called, 
and  the  voice — clear,  equal,  imperious — evened 
its  way  upon  the  air  and  reduced  to  itself  the 
soft  speech  of  the  others.     Silence  fell  upon  them 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  223 

all,  and  their  eyes  were  toward  a  figure  standing 
in  the  open  interval  of  the  room — a  figure  whose 
aspect  thrilled  St.  George  with  sudden,  inexpli- 
cable emotion. 

It  was  an  old  man,  incredibly  old,  so  that  one 
thought  first  of  his  age.  His  beard  and  hair 
were  not  all  grey,  but  he  had  grotesquely  brown 
and  wrinkled  flesh.  His  stuff  robe  hung  in  straight 
folds  about  his  singularly  erect  figure,  and  there 
was  in  his  bearing  the  dignity  of  one  who  has 
understood  all  fine  and  gentle  things,  all  things 
of  quietude.  But  his  look  was  vacant,  as  if  the 
mind  were  asleep. 

"  Why  have  you  not  waited?  "  he  repeated 
almost  wonderingly.  "  Why  have  you  not  sent 
forme?"  and  his  eyes  questioned  one  and  another, 
and  rested  on  the  face  of  the  prince  upon  the 
dais,  with  Olivia  by  his  side.  The  guard,  whom 
in  some  fashion  the  strange  old  man  had  eluded, 
hurried  from  the  borders  of  the  room.  But  he 
broke  from  them  and  was  off  up  half  the  length 
of  the  hall  toward  the  prince's  seat. 

"  Do  you  not  know?  "  he  cried  as  he  went, 
"  I  am  Malakh.  Read  one  another's  eyes  and 
you  will  know.     I  am  Malakh." 

As  the  guards  closed  about  him  he  tottered 
and  would  have  fallen  save  that  they  caught  him 
roughly  and  pressed  to  a  door,  half  carrying  him, 
and  he  did  not  resist.  But  as  speech  was  renewed 
another  voice  broke  the  murmur,  and  with  great 


224  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

amazement  St.  George  knew  that  this  was  Olivia's 
voice. 

"  No,"  she  cried — but  half  as  if  she  distrusted 
her  own  strange  impulse,  "  let  him  stay — let  him 
stay." 

St.  George  saw  the  prince's  look  question  her. 
He  himself  was  unable  to  account  for  her  unex- 
pected intercession,  and  so,  one  would  have  said, 
was  Olivia.  She  looked  up  at  the  prince  almost 
fearfully,  and  down  the  length  of  the  listening 
table,  and  back  to  the  old  man  whose  eyes  were 
upon  her  face. 

"  He  is  an  old  man,  your  Highness,"  St.  George 
heard  her  saying,  "  let  him  stay." 

Prince  Tabnit,  who  gave  a  curious  impression  of 
doing  everything  that  he  did  in  obedience  to 
inertia  rather  than  in  its  defiance,  indicated  some 
command  to  the  puzzled  guards,  and  they  led 
old  Malakh  to  a  stone  bench  not  far  from  the 
dais,  and  there  he  sank  down,  looking  about 
him  without  surprise. 

"It  is  well,"  he  said  simply,  "  Malakh  has 
come." 

While  St.  George  was  marveling — but  not  that 
the  old  man  spoke  the  English,  for  in  Yaque  it 
was  not  surprising  to  find  the  very  madmen 
speaking  one's  own  tongue — Balator  explained 
the  man. 

"  He  is  a  poor  mad  creature,"  Balator  said. 
"  He  walks  the  streets  of  Med  saying  '  Melek, 


THE  END  OE  THE  EVENING  225 

Melek,'  which  is  to  say,  '  king,'  and  so  he  is 
seeking  the  king.  But  he  is  mad,  and  they  say 
that  he  always  weeps,  and  therefore  they  pretend 
to  believe  that  he  says  '  Malakh,'  which  is  to 
say  '  salt,'  And  they  call  him  that  for  his 
tears.  Doubtless  the  princess  does  not  under- 
stand.    Her  Highness  has  a  tender  heart." 

St.  George  was  silent.  The  incident  was  trivial, 
but  Olivia  had  never  seemed  so  near. 

Sometimes  in  the  world  of  commonplace  there 
comes  an  extreme  hour  which  one  afterward 
remembers  with  "  Could  that  have  been  I?  But 
could  it  have  been  I  who  did  that?  "  And  one 
finds  it  in  one's  heart  to  be  certain  that  it  was  not 
one's  self,  but  some  one  else — some  one  very 
near,  some  one  who  is  always  sharing  one's  own 
consciousness  and  inexplicably  mixing  with  one's 
moments.  "  Perhaps,"  St.  George  would  have 
said,  "  there  is  some  such  person  who  is  nearly, 
but  not  quite,  I  myself.  And  if  there  is,  it  was 
he  and  not  I  who  was  at  that  banquet!  "  It 
was  one  of  the  hours  which  seem  to  have  been 
made  with  no  echo.  It  was;  and  then  passed 
into  other  ways,  and  one  remembered  only  a 
brightness.  For  example,  St,  George  listened  to 
what  Balator  said,  and  he  heard  with  utmost 
understanding,  and  with  the  frequent  pleasure  of 
wonder,  and  was  now  and  then  exquisitely  amused 
as  one  is  amused  in  dreams.  But  even  as  he 
listened,  if  he  tried  to  remember  the  last  thing 


226  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

that  was  said,  and  the  next  to  the  last  thing,  he 
found  that  these  had  escaped  him ;  and  as  he  rose 
from  the  table  he  could  not  recall  ten  words  that 
had  been  spoken.  It  was  as  if  the  some  one  very 
near,  who  is  always  sharing  one's  consciousness 
and  inexplicably  mixing  with  one's  moments,  had 
taken  St.  George's  part  at  the  banquet  while  he, 
himself,  sat  there  in  the  r61e  of  his  own  outer 
consciousness.  But  neither  he  nor  that  hypothet- 
ical "  some  one  else,"  who  was  also  he,  lost  for  one 
instant  the  heavenly  knowledge  that  Olivia  was 
up  there  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Amory,  in  spite  of  diplomatic  effort,  had  not 
succeeded  in  imparting  to  St.  George  anything 
of  his  talk  with  Jarvo.  Balator  was  too  near, 
and  the  place  was  somehow  too  generally  attentive 
to  permit  a  secret  word.  So,  as  they  rose  from 
the  table,  St.  George  was  still  in  ignorance  of 
what  was  toward  and  knew  nothing  of  either 
the  Ilex  Tower  or  the  possibilities  of  the  morrow. 
He  had  only  one  thought,  and  that  was  to  speak 
with  Olivia,  to  let  her  know  that  he  was  there  on 
the  island,  near  her,  ready  to  serve  her — ah  well, 
chiefly,  he  did  not  disguise  from  himself,  what  he 
wanted  was  to  look  at  her  and  to  hear  her  speak 
to  him.  But  Amory  had  depended  on  the  con- 
fusion of  the  rising  to  communicate  the  great  news, 
and  to  tell  about  Jarvo,  waiting  in  a  motor 
out  there  in  the  palace  courtyard,  by  the  wall 
on  the  side  opposite  the  windows  of  the  banquet 


THE  END  OF  THE  EVENING  22T 

room.  In  an  auspicious  moment  Amory  looked 
warily  about,  thrilling  with  premonition  of  his 
friend's  enthusiasm. 

Before  he  could  speak,  St.  George  uttered  a 
startled  exclamation,  caught  at  Amory 's  arm, 
sprang  forward,  and  was  off  up  the  long  room, 
dragging  Amory  with  him. 

About  the  dais  there  was  suddenly  an  appalling 
confusion.  Push  of  feet,  murmurs,  a  cry  and, 
visible  over  the  heads  between,  a  glistening  of 
gold  uniforms  closing  about  the  throne  seats, 
flashing  back  to  the  long,  open  windows,  disap- 
pearing against  the  night  .   .  . 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  cried  Amory  as  he  ran. 
"What  is  it?  " 

"  Quick,"  said  St.  George  only,  "  I  don't  know. 
They've  gone  with  her." 
,  Amory  did  not  understand,  but  he  saw  that 
Olivia's  seat  was  empty;  and  when  he  swept  the 
heads  for  her  white  veil,  it  was  not  there. 

"  Who  has?  "  he  said. 

St.  George  swerved  to  the  side  of  the  room 
toward  the  windows,  and  old  Malakh  stood  there, 
crying  out  and  pointing. 

"  The  guard,  I  think,"  St.  George  answered, 
and  was  over  the  low  sill  of  a  window,  run- 
ning headlong  across  the  courtyard,  Amory 
behind  him.  "  There  they  go,"  St.  George 
cried.  "Good  God,  what  are  we  to  do?  There 
they  go." 


228  ROMANCE  ISLAND^ 

Amory  looked.  Down  a  side  avenue — one  of 
those  tunnels  of  shadow  that  taught  the  necessity 
of  mystery — a  great  motor  car  was  speeding,  and 
in  the  dimness  the  two  men  could  see  the  white  of 
Olivia's  floating  veil. 

At  this,  Amory  wheeled  and  searched  the 
length  of  wall  across  the  yard.  If  only — if  only — 

There  on  the  side  of  the  courtyard  opposite 
the  windows  of  the  banquet  room  stood  the 
motor  that  was  that  night  to  go  back  to  Melita. 
Bolt  upright  on  the  seat  was  Jarvo,  and  climbing 
in  the  tonneau,  with  his  neck  stretched  toward 
the  confusion  of  the  palace,  was  Rollo.  Jarvo 
saw  Amory,  who  beckoned;  and  in  an  instant 
the  car  was  beside  them  and  the  two  men  were 
over  the  back  of  the  tonneau  in  a  flash. 

"  That  way,"  cried  St.  George,  with  no  time  to 
waste  on  the  miracle  of  Jarvo's  appearance, 
"  that  way — there.     Where  you  see  the  white." 

At  a  touch  the  motor  plunged  away  into  the 
fragrant  darkness.  Amory  looked  back.  Figures 
crowded  the  windows  of  the  palace,  and  streamed 
from  the  banquet  hall  into  the  courtyard.  Men 
hurried  through  the  hall,  and  there  was  clamour 
of  voices,  and  in  the  honey-coloured  air  the  great 
bulk  of  the  palace  towered  like  a  faithless  sentinel, 
the  alien  banners  in  nameless  colours  sending 
streamers  into  the  moon-lit  upper  spaces. 

On  before,  down  nebulous  ways,  went  the 
.whiteness  of  the  floating  veil. 


CHAPTER  XII 

BETWEEN-WORIvDS 

Down  nebulous  ways  they  went,  the  thin 
darkness  flowing  past  them.  The  sloping  avenue 
ran  all  the  width  of  the  palace  grounds,  and  here 
among  slim-trunked  trees  faint  fringes  of  the 
light  touched  away  the  dimness  in  the  open 
spaces  and  expressed  the  borders  of  the  dusk. 
Always  the  way  led  down,  dipping  deeper  in 
the  conjecture  of  shadow,  and  always  before 
them  glimmered  the  mist  of  Olivia's  veil,  an 
eidolon  of  love,  of  love's  eternal  Vanishing  Goal. 

And  St.  George  was  in  pursuit.  So  were  Amory 
and  Jarvo,  and  Rollo  of  the  oil-skins,  but  these 
mattered  very  little,  for  it  was  St.  George  whose 
eyes  burned  in  his  pale  face  and  were  striving  to 
catch  the  faintest  motion  in  that  fleeing  car  ahead. - 

"  Faster,  Jarvo,"  he  said,  "  we're  not  gaining 
on  them.  I  think  they're  gaining  on  us.  Put 
ahead,  can't  you?  " 

Amory  vexed  the  air  with  frantic  questionings. 
"  How  did  it  happen?  "  he  said.  "  Who  did  it? 
Was  it  the  guard?    What  did  they  do  it  for?  " 

229 


230  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

**  It  looks  to  me,"  said  St.  George  only,  peering 
distractedly  into  the  gloom,  "as  if  all  those 
fellows  had  on  uniforms.     Can  you  see?  " 

Jarvo  spoke  softly. 

"It  is  true,  adon,"  he  said,  "  they  are  of  the 
guard.  This  is  what  they  had  planned,"  he 
added  to  Amory.  "  I  feared  the  harm  would  be 
to  you.  It  is  the  same.  Your  turn  would  be 
the  next." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "St.  George  demanded. 

Amory,  with  some  incoherence,  told  him  what 
Jarvo  had  come  to  them  to  propose,  and  height- 
ened his  own  excitement  by  plunging  into  the 
business  of  that  night  and  the  next,  as  he  had  had 
it  from  the  little  brown  man's  lips. 

"  Up  the  mountain  to-morrow  night,"  he  con- 
cluded fervently,  "  what  do  you  think  of  that? 
Do  you  see  us?  " 

"  Maniac,  no,"  said  St.  George  shortly,  "what 
do  we  want  to  go  up  the  mountain  for  if  Miss 
Holland  is  somewhere  else?  Faster,  Jarvo,  can't 
you?  "  he  urged.  "  Why,  this  thing  is  built  to  go 
sixty  miles  an  hour.     We're  creeping." 

"  Perhaps  it's  better  to  start  in  gentle  and  work 
up  a  pace,  sir,"  observed  RoUo  inspirationally, 
"  like  a  man's  legs,  sir,  beggin'  your  pardon." 

St.  George  looked  at  him  as  if  he  had  first  seen 
him,  so  that  Amory  once  more  explained  his 
presence  and  pointed  to  the  oil-skins.  And 
St.  George  said  only: 


BETWEEN- WORLDS  231 

"  Now  we're  coming  up  a  little — don't  you  think 
we're  coming  up  a  little?  Throw  it  wide  open, 
Jarvo — now,  go!  " 

"  Wliat  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  catch 
them  ? ' '  demanded  Amory.  ' '  We  can't  lunge  into 
them,  for  fear  of  hurting  IVIiss  Holland.  And  who 
knows  what  devilish  contrivance  they've  got — 
dum-dum  bullets  with  a  poison  seal  attachment," 
prophesied  Amory  darkly.  "  What  are  you 
going  to  do?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  we're  going  to  do,"  said 
St.  George  doggedly,  "  but  if  we  can  overtake 
them  it  won't  take  us  long  to  find  out." 

Never  so  slightly  the  pursuers  were  gaining. 
It  was  impossible  to  tell  whether  those  in  the 
flying  car  knew  that  they  were  followed,  and  if 
they  did  know,  and  if  Olivia  knew,  St.  George 
wondered  whether  the  pursuit  w^ere  to  her  a  new 
alarm,  or  wliether  she  were  looking  to  them  for 
deliverance.  If  she  knew!  His  heart  stood  still 
at  the  thought — oh,  and  if  they  had  both  known, 
that  morning  at  breakfast  at  the  Boris,  that  this 
was  the  way  the  genie  would  come  out  of  the  jar. 
But  how,  if  he  were  unable  to  help  her?  And  how 
could  he  help  her  when  these  others  might  have 
Heaven  knew  what  resources  of  black  art,  art  of 
all  the  colours  of  the  Yaque  spectrum,  if  it  came 
to  that?  The  slim-trunked  trees  flew  past  them, 
and  the  tender  branches  brushed  their  shoulders 
and  hung  out  their  flowers  like  lamps.      Warm 


232  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

wind  was  in  their  faces,  sweet,  reverberant 
voices  of  the  wood-things  came  chorusing,  and 
ahead  there  in  the  dimness,  that  misty  will-o'- 
the-wisp  was  her  veil,  Olivia's  veil.  St.  George 
would  have  followed  if  it  had  led  him  between- 
worlds. 

In  a  manner  it  did  lead  him  between-worlds. 
Emerging  suddenly  upon  a  broader  avenue  their 
car  followed  the  other  aside  and  shot  through  a 
great  gateway  of  the  palace  wall — a  wall  built  of 
such  massive  blocks  that  the  gateway  formed  a 
covered  passageway.  From  there,  delicately 
lighted,  greenly  arched,  and  on  this  festal  night, 
quite  deserted,  went  the  road  by  which,  the  night 
before,  they  had  entered   Med. 

"  Now,"  said  St.  George  between  set  teeth, 
"  now  see  what  you  can  do,  Jarvo.  Everything 
depends  on  you." 

Evidently  Jarvo  had  been  waiting  for  this 
stretch  of  open  road  and  expecting  the  other  car 
to  take  it.  He  bent  forward,  his  wiry  little  frame 
like  a  quivering  spring  controlling  the  motion. 
The  motor  leaped  at  his  touch.  Away  down  the 
road  they  tore  with  the  wind  singing  its  challenge. 
Second  by  second  they  saw  their  gain  increase. 
The  uniforms  of  the  guards  in  the  car  became 
distinguishable.  The  white  of  Olivia's  veil 
merged  in  the  brightness  of  her  gown — was  it  only 
the  shining  of  the  gold  of  the  uniforms  or  could 
St.  George  see  the  floating  gold  of  her  hair?     Ah, 


BETWEEN- WORLDS  233' 

wonderful,  past  all  speech  it  was  wonderful  to  be 
fleeing  toward  her  through  this  pale  light  that  was 
like  a  purer  element  than  light  itself.  With 
the  phantom  moving  of  the  boughs  in  the  wood 
on  either  side  light  seemed  to  dance  and  drip 
from  leaf  to  leaf — the  visible  spirit  of  the  haunted 
green.  The  unreality  of  it  all  swept  over  him 
almost  stiflingly.  Olivia — was  it  indeed  Olivia 
whom  he  was  following  down  lustrous  ways  of  a 
land  vague  as  a  star ;  or  was  his  pursuit  not  for 
her,  but  for  the  exquisite,  incommunicable  Idea, 
and  was  he  following  it  through  a  world  forth- 
fashioned  from  his  own  desire? 

Suddenly  indistinguishable  sounds  were  in  his 
ears,  words  from  Amory,  from  Jarvo  certain 
exultant  gutturals.  He  felt  the  car  slacken  speed, 
he  looked  ahead  for  the  swift  beckoning  of  the 
veil,  and  then  he  saw  that  where,  in  the  delicate 
distance,  the  other  motor  had  sped  its  way,  it 
now  stood  inactive  in  the  road  before  them,  and 
they  were  actually  upon  it.  The  four  guards  in 
the  motor  were  standing  erect  with  uplifted  faces, 
their  gold  uniforms  shining  like  armour.  But 
this  was  not  all.  There,  in  the  highway  beside 
the  car,  the  mist  of  her  veil  like  a  halo  about  her, 
Olivia  stood  alone. 

St.  George  did  not  reckon  what  they  meant  to 
do.  He  dropped  over  the  side  of  the  tonneau  and 
ran  to  her.  He  stood  before  her,  and  all  the  joy 
that  he  had  ever  known  was  transcended  as  she 


'234  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

turned  toward  him.  She  threw  out  her  hands 
with  a  Httle  cry — was  it  gladness,  or  reUef,  or 
beseeching?  He  could  not  be  certain  that  there 
was  even  recognition  in  her  eyes  before  she  tot- 
tered and  swayed,  and  he  caught  her  unconscious 
form  in  his  arms.  As  he  lifted  her  he  looked  with 
apprehension  toward  the  car  that  held  the  guards. 
To  his  bewilderment  there  was  no  car  there. 
The  pursued  motor,  like  a  winged  thing  of  the 
most  innocent  vagaries,  had  taken  itself  off  utterly. 
And  on  before,  the  causeway  was  utterly  empty, 
dipping  idly  between  murmurous  green.  But  at 
the  moment  St.  George  had  no  time  to  spend  on 
that  wonder. 

He  carried  Olivia  to  the  tonneau  of  Jarvo's 
car,  jealous  when  Rollo  lifted  her  gown's  hem 
from  the  dust  of  the  road  and  when  Amory 
threw  open  the  door.  He  held  her  in  his  arms, 
half  kneeling  beside  her,  profoundly  regardless 
where  it  should  please  the  others  to  dispose 
themselves.  He  had  no  recollection  of  hearing 
Jarvo  point  the  way  through  the  trees  to  a 
path  that  led  away,  as  far  from  them  as  a 
voice  would  carry,  to  the  Ilex  Tower  whose  key 
burned  in  Amory 's  pocket,  promising  radiant, 
intangible  things  to  his  imagination.  St.  George 
understood  with  magnificent  unconcern  that 
Amory  and  Rollo  were  gone  off  there  to  wait 
for  the  return  of  him  and  Jarvo;  he  took  it  for 
granted  that  Jarvo  had  grasped  that  Olivia  must 


BETWEEN- WORLDS  235 

be  taken  back  to  her  aunt  and  her  friends  at  the 
palace;  and  afterward  he  knew  only,  for  an  inde- 
terminate space,  that  the  car  was  moving  across 
some  dim,  heavenly  foreground  to  some  dim, 
ultimate  destination  in  which  he  found  himself 
believing  with  infinite  faith. 

For  this  was  Olivia,  in  his  arms.  St.  George 
looked  down  at  her,  at  the  white,  exquisite  face 
with  its  shadow  of  lashes,  and  it  seemed  to  him 
that  he  must  not  breathe,  or  remember,  or  hope, 
lest  the  gods  should  be  jealous  and  claim  the 
moment,  and  leave  him  once  more  forlorn.  That 
was  the  secret,  he  thought,  not  to  touch  away 
the  elusive  moment  by  hope  or  memory,  but  just 
to  live  it,  filled  with  its  ecstasies,  borne  on  the 
crest  of  its  consciousness.  It  seemed  to  him  in 
some  intimately  communicated  fashion,  that  the 
moment,  the  very  world  of  the  island,  was  become 
to  him  a  more  intense  object  of  consciousness 
than  himself.  And  somehow  Olivia  was  its 
expression — Olivia,  here  in  his  arms,  with  the 
stir  of  her  breath  and  the  light,  light  pressure 
of  her  body  and  the  fall  of  her  hair,  not  only 
symbols  of  the  sovereign  hour,  but  the  hour's 
realities. 

On  either  side  the  phantom  wood  pressed  close 
about  them,  and  its  light  seemed  coined  by  goblin 
fingers.  Dissolving  wind,  persuading  little  voices 
musical  beyond  the  domain  of  music  that  he 
knew,  quick,  poignant  vistas  of  glades  where  the 


236  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

light  spent  itself  in  its  longed-for  liberty  of 
colour,  labyrinthine  ways  of  shadow  that  taught 
the  necessity  of  mystery.  There  was  something 
lyric  about  it  all.  Here  Nature  moved  on  no 
formal  lines,  understood  no  frugality  of  beauty, 
but  was  lavish  with  a  divine  and  special  errantry 
to  a  divine  and  special  understanding.  And  it 
had  been  given  St.  George  to  move  with  her 
merely  by  living  this  hour,  with  Olivia  in  his 
arms. 

The  sweet  of  life — the  sweet  of  life  and  the 
world  his  own.  The  words  had  never  meant  so 
much.  He  had  often  said  them  in  exultation, 
but  he  had  never  known  their  truth:  the  world 
was  literally  his  own,  under  the  law.  Nothing 
seemed  impossible.  His  mind  went  back  to  the 
unexplained  disappearing  of  that  other  motor  and, 
however  it  had  been,  that  did  not  seem  impossible 
either.  It  seemed  natural,  and  only  a  new  door- 
way to  new  points  of  contact.  In  this  amazing 
land  no  speculation  was  too  far  afield  to  be 
the  food  of  every  day.  Here  men  understood 
miracle  as  the  rest  of  the  world  understands 
invention.  Already  the  mere  existence  of  Yaque 
proved  that  the  space  of  experience  is  tran- 
scended— and  with  the  thought  a  fancy,  elusive 
and  profound,  seized  him  and  gripped  at  his  heart 
with  an  emotion  wider  than  fear.  "What  had 
become  of  the  other  car?  Had  it  gone  down 
some  road  of  the  wood  which  the  guards  knew, 


BETWEEN- WORLDS  237 

or  .  .  .  The  words  of  Prince  Tabnit  came  back 
to  him  as  they  had  been  spoken  in  that  wonderful 
tour  of  the  island.  "  The  higher  dimensions  are 
being  conquered.  Nearly  all  of  us  can  pass  into 
the  fifth  at  will,  '  disappearing,'  as  you  have  the 
word."  Was  it  possible  that  in  the  vanishing  of 
the  pursued  car  this  had  been  demonstrated 
before  him?  Into  this  space,  inclusive  of  the 
visible  world  and  of  Yaque  as  well,  had  the  car 
passed  without  the  pursuers  being  able  to  point  to 
the  direction  which  it  had  taken?  vSt.  George 
smiled  in  derision  as  this  flashed  upon  him,  and 
it  hardly  held  his  thought  for  a  moment,  for  his 
eyes  were  upon  Olivia's  face,  so  near,  so  near 
his  own  .  .  .  Undoubtedly,  he  thought  vaguely, 
that  other  motor  had  simply  swerved  aside  to 
some  private  opening  of  the  grove  and,  from  being 
hard-pressed  and  almost  overtaken,  was  now  well 
away  in  safety.  Yet  if  this  were  so,  would  they 
not  have  taken  Olivia  with  them?  But  to  that 
strange  and  unapparent  hyperspace  they  could 
not  have  taken  her,  because  she  did  not  under- 
stand. ".  .  .  just  as  one,"  Prince  Tabnit  had 
said, ' '  who  understands  how  to  die  and  come  to  life 
again  would  not  be  able  to  take  with  him  any  one 
who  himself  did  not  understand  how  to  accom- 
pany him  ..." 

Some  terrifying  and  exalting  sense  swept  him 
into  a  new  intimacy  of  understanding  as  he 
realized  glimmeringly  what  heights  and  depths 


238  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

lay  about  his  ceasing  to  see  that  car  of  the  guard. 
Yet,  with  OHvia's  head  upon  his  arm,  all  that 
he  theorized  in  that  flash  of  time  hung  hardly 
beyond  the  border  of  his  understanding.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  to  St.  George  as  if  almost — almost 
he  could  understand,  as  if  he  could  pierce 
the  veil  and  know  utterly  all  the  secrets  of  spirit 
and  sense  that  confound.  "  We  shall  all  know 
when  we  are  able  to  bear  it,"  he  had  once  heard 
another  say,  and  it  seemed  to  him  now  that  at 
last  he  was  able  to  bear  it,  as  if  the  sense  of  the 
uninterrupted  connection  between  the  two  worlds 
was  almost  a  part  of  his  own  consciousness.  A 
moment's  deeper  thought,  a  quicker  flowing  of 
the  imagination,  a  little  more  poignant  projecting 
of  himself  above  the  abyss  and  he,  too,  would 
understand.  It  came  to  him  that  he  had  almost 
understood  every  time  that  he  had  looked  at 
Olivia.  Ah,  he  thought,  and  how  exquisite,  how 
matchless  she  was,  and  what  Heaven  beyond 
Heaven  the  world  would  hold  for  him  if  only 
she  were  to  love  him.  St.  George  lifted  the 
little  hand  that  hung  at  her  side,  and  stooped 
momentarily  to  touch  his  cheek  to  the  soft  hair 
that  swept  her  shoulder.  Here  for  him  lay  the 
sweet  of  life — the  sweet  of  the  world,  ay,  and 
the  sweet  of  all  the  world's  mysteries.  This 
alien  land  was  no  nearer  the  truth  than  he. 
His  love  was  the  expression  of  its  mystery. 
They    went    back    through    the    great    arch- 


BETWEEN-WORLDS  239 

way,  and  entered  the  palace  park.  Once  more 
the  slim-tninked  trees  flew  past  them  with  the 
fringes  of  light  expressing  the  borders  of  the 
dusk.  St.  George  crouched,  half -kneeling,  on 
the  floor  of  the  tonneau,  his  free  hand  pro- 
tecting Olivia's  face  from  the  leaning  branches 
of  heavy-headed  flowers.  He  had  been  so  pas- 
sionately anxious  that  she  should  know  that  he 
was  on  the  island,  near  her,  ready  to  serve 
her;  but  now,  save  for  his  alarm  and  anxiety 
about  her,  he  felt  a  shy,  profound  gratitude  that 
the  hour  had  fallen  as  it  had  fallen.  Whatever 
was  to  come,  this  nearness  to  her  would  be  his 
to  remember  and  possess.  It  had  been  his  supreme 
hour.  Whether  she  had  recognized  him  in  that 
moment  on  the  road,  whether  she  ever  knew 
what  had  happened  made,  he  thought,  no  differ- 
ence. But  if  she  was  to  open  her  eyes  as  they 
reached  the  border  of  the  park,  and  if  she  was 
to  know  that  it  was  like  this  that  the  genie  had 
come  out  of  the  jar — the  mere  notion  made  him 
giddy,  and  he  saw  that  Heaven  may  have  little 
inner  Heaven-courts  which  one  is  never  too  happy 
to  penetrate. 

But  Olivia  did  not  stir  or  unclose  her  eyes. 
The  great  strain  of  the  evening,  the  terror  and 
shock  of  its  ending,  the  very  relief  with  which 
she  had,  at  all  events,  realized  herself  in  the 
hands  of  friends  were  more  than  even  an  island 
princess   could  pass   through  in   serenity.     And 


240  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

when  at  last  from  the  demesne  of  enchantment 
the  car  emerged  in  the  court  of  the  palace,  Olivia 
knew  nothing  of  it  and,  as  nearly  as  he  could 
recall  afterward,  neither  did  St.  George.  He 
understood  that  the  courtyard  was  filled  with 
murmurs,  and  that  as  Olivia  was  lifted  from  the 
car  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Medora  Hastings,  in  all 
its  excesses  of  tone  and  pitch,  was  tilted  in  a 
kind  of  universal  reproving.  Then  he  was  aware 
that  Jarvo,  beseeching  him  not  to  leave  the 
motor,  had  somehow  got  him  away  from  all  the 
tumult  and  the  questioning  and  the  crush  of  the 
other  motors  setting  tardily  off  down  the  avenue 
in  a  kind  of  majestic  pursuit  of  the  princess. 
After  that  he  remembered  nothing  but  the  grate- 
ful gloom  of  the  wood  and  the  swift  flight  of  the 
car  down  that  nebulous  way,  thin  darkness 
flowing  about  him. 

He  was  to  go  back  to  join  Amory  in  some 
kind  of  tower,  he  knew;  and  he  was  infinitely 
resigned,  for  he  remembered  that  this  was  in 
some  way  essential  to  his  safety,  and  that  it 
had  to  do  with  the  ascent  of  Mount  Khalak  to-mor- 
row night.  For  the  rest  St.  George  was  certain 
of  nothing  save  that  he  was  floating  once  more 
in  a  sea  of  light,  with  the  sweet  of  the  world 
flowing  in  his  veins;  and  upon  his  arm  and 
against  his  shoulder  he  could  still  feel  the  thrill 
of  the  pressure  of  Olivia's  head. 

The  genie  had  come  out  of  the  jar — and  never, 
never  would  he  go  back. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  LINES  LEAD  UP 

In  the  late  hours  of  the  next  afternoon  Rollo, 
with  a  sigh,  uncoiled  himself  from  the  shadow  of 
the  altar  to  the  god  Melkarth,  in  the  Ilex  Temple, 
and  stiffly  rose.  Vicissitudes  were  not  for  Rollo, 
who  had  not  fathomed  the  joys  of  adaptability; 
and  the  savour  of  the  sweet  herbs  which,  from 
Jarvo's  wallet,  he  had  that  day  served,  was  for- 
gotten in  his  longing  for  a  drop  of  tarragan 
vinegar  and  a  bulb  of  garlic  with  which  to  dress 
the  herbs.  His  lean  and  shadowed  face  wore  an 
expression  of  settled  melancholy. 

"  Sorrow's  nothing,"  he  sententiously  observed. 
"  It's  trouble  that  does  for  a  man,  sir." 

St.  George,  who  lay  at  full  length  on  a  mossy 
sill  of  the  king's  chapel  counting  the  hours  of  his 
inaction,  continued  to  look  out  over  the  glistening 
tops  of  the  ilex  trees. 

"Speaking  of  trouble,"  he  said,  "what  would  yoil 
say,  Rollo,  to  getting  back  to  the  yacht  to-night, 
instead  of  going  up  the  mountain  with  us?  " 

241 


242  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Rollo  dropped  his  eyes,  but  his  face  brightened 
under,  as  it  were,  his  never-hfted  mask. 

"  Oh,  sir,"  he  said  humbly,  "  a  person  is  always 
willing  to  do  whatever  makes  him  the  most 
useful." 

"  Little  Cawthorne  and  Bennietod,"  went  on 
St.  George,  "  ten  to  one  will  take  to  the  trail 
to-night,  if  they  haven't  already.  They'll  be 
coming  to  Med  and  reorganizing  the  police  force, 
or  raising  a  standing  army  or  starting  a  subway. 
You'd  do  well  to  drop  down,  and  give  them  some 
idea  of  what's  happened,  and  I  fancy  you'd 
better  all  be  somewhere  about  on  the  day  after 
to-morrow,  at  noon.  Not  that  there  will  be  any 
wedding  at  that  time,"  explained  St.  George  care- 
fully, "  although  there  may  be  something  to  see, 
all  the  same.  But  you  might  tell  them,  you  know, 
that  Miss  Holland  is  due  to  marry  the  prince 
then.  Can  you  get  back  to  the  yacht  alone?  " 

Rollo  hadn't  thought  of  that,  and  his  mask 
fell  once  more  into  its  lines  of  misery. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir,"  he  said  doubtfully,  "  most 
men  can  go  up  a  steep  place  all  right.  It's  comin' 
down  that's  hard  on  the  knees.  And  if  I  was 
to  try  it  alone,  sir " 

Jarvo  made  a  sign  of  reassurance. 

"  That  is  not  weU,"  he  said,  "  you  would  be 
dashed  to  pieces.  Ulfin,  one  of  the  six,  will  wait 
for  us  to-night  on  the  edge  of  the  grove.  He  can 
conduct  the  way  to  the  vessel." 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  243 

"  Ah,  sir,"  said  Rollo,  not  without  a  certain 
self-satisfaction,  "  something  is  always  sure  to 
turn  up,  sir." 

From  a  tour  of  the  temple  Amory  came  list- 
lessly back  to  the  king's  chapel.  There,  where 
the  descendants  of  Abibaal  had  worshiped  until 
their  idols  had  been  refined  by  Time  to  a  kind  of 
decoration,  the  Americans  and  Jarvo  had  spent 
the  night.  They  had  slept  stretched  on  benches 
of  beveled  stone.  They  had  waked  to  trace  the 
figures  in  a  length  of  tapestry  representing  the 
capture  of  lo  on  the  coast  of  Argolis,  doubtless 
woven  by  an  eye-witness.  They  had  bathed  in  a 
brook  near  the  entrance  where  stood  the  altar 
for  the  sacrifice  round  which  the  priests  and 
hierodouloi  had  been  wont  to  dance,  and  where 
huge  architraves,  metopes  and  tryglyphs,  massive 
as  those  at  Gebeil  and  Tortosa  and  hewn  from 
living  rock,  rose  from  the  fragile  green  of  the  wood 
like  a  huge  arm  signaling  its  eternal  "  Alas!  " 
They  had  partaken  of  Jarvo 's  fruit  and  sweet 
herbs,  and  Rollo  had  served  them,  standing  with 
his  back  to  the  niche  where  once  had  looked 
augustly  down  the  image  of  the  god.  And  now 
Amory,  with  a  smile,  leaned  against  a  wall  where 
old  vines,  grown  miraculously  in  crannies,  spread 
their  tendrils  upon  the  friendly  hieroglyphic  scor- 
ing of  the  crenelated  stone,  and  summed  up  his 
reflections  of  the  night. 

"  I've  got  it,"  he  announced,  "  I  think  it  was  up 


244  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

in  the  Adirondacks,  summer  before  last.  I  think 
I  was  in  a  canoe  when  she  went  by  in  a  launch, 
with  the  Chiswicks.  Why,  do  you  know,  I  think 
I  dreamed  about  Miss  Frothingham  for  weeks." 

St.  George  smiled  suddenly  and  radiantly,  and 
his  smile  was  for  the  sake  of  both  Rollo  and 
Amory — Rollo  whose  sense  of  the  commonplace 
nothing  could  overpower,  Amory  who  talked 
about  the  Chiswicks  in  the  Adirondacks.  Why 
not?  St.  George  thought  happily.  Here  in  the 
temple  certain  precious  and  delicate  idols  were 
believed  to  be  hidden  in  alcoves  walled  up  by 
mighty  stone;  and  here,  Jarvo  was  telling  them, 
were  secret  exits  to  the  road  contrived  by  the 
priests  of  the  temple  at  the  time  of  their  oppres- 
sion by  the  worshipers  of  another  god;  but  yet 
what  special  interest  could  he  and  Amory  have 
in  brooding  upon  these,  or  the  ancient  Phcenicians 
having  "  invited  to  traffic  by  a  signal  fire,"  when 
they  could  sit  still  and  remember? 

"  To-night,"  he  said  aloud,  feeling  a  sudden 
fellowship  for  both  Amory  and  Rollo,  "  to-night, 
when  the  moon  rises,  we  shall  watch  it  from  the 
top  of  the  mountain." 

Then  he  wondered,  many  hundred  times, 
whether  Olivia  could  possibly  have  recognized 
him. 

When  the  dark  had  fallen  they  set  out.  The 
ilex  grove  was  very  still  save  for  a  fugitive  wind 
that    carried    faint    spices,    and    they    took    a 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  245 

winding  way  among  trunks  and  reached  the 
edge  of  the  wood  without  adventm-e.  There 
Ulfin  and  another  of  the  six  carriers  were  wait- 
ing, as  Jarvo  had  expected,  and  it  was  decided 
that  they  should  both  accompany  Rollo  down  to 
the  yacht. 

Rollo  handed  the  oil-skins  to  St.  George  and 
Amory,  and  then  stood  crushing  his  hat  in  his 
hands,  doing  his  best  to  speak. 

"  Look  sharp,  Rollo,"  St.  George  advised  him, 
"  don't  step  one  foot  off  a  precipice.  And  tell  the 
people  on  the  yacht  not  to  worry.  We  shall 
expect  to  see  them  day  after  to-morrow,  some- 
where about.     Take  care  of  yourself." 

"Oh,  sir,"  said  Rollo  with  difficulty,  "  good- 
by,  sir.  I  'ope  you'll  be  successful,  sir.  A  per- 
son likes  to  succeed  in  what  they  undertake." 

Then  the  three  went  on  down  the  glimmering 
way  where,  last  night,  they  had  pursued  the 
floating  pennon  of  the  veil.  There  were  few 
upon  the  highway,  and  these  hardly  regarded 
them.  It  occurred  to  St.  George  that  they 
passed  as  figures  in  a  dream  will  pass,  in  the 
casual  fashion  of  all  unreality,  taking  all  things 
for  granted.  Yet,  of  course,  to  the  passers-by 
upon  the  road  to  Med,  there  was  nothing  remark- 
able in  the  aspect  of  the  three  companions.  All 
that  was  remarkable  was  the  adventure  upon 
which  they  were  bound,  and  nobody  could  pos- 
sibly have  guessed  that. 


246  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Almost  a  mile  lay  between  them  and  the  point 
where  the  ascent  of  the  mountain  was  to  be  begun. 
The  road  which  they  were  taking  followed  at  the 
foot  of  the  embankment  which  girt  the  island, 
and  it  led  them  at  last  to  a  stretch  of  arbourfes- 
cent  heath,  piled  with  black  basaltic  rocks. 
Here,  where  the  light  was  dim  like  the  glow 
from  light  reflected  upon  low  clouds,  they  took 
their  way  among  great  branching  cacti  and  name- 
less plants  that  caught  at  their  ankles.  A 
strange  odour  rose  from  the  earth,  mineral, 
metallic,  and  the  air  was  thick  with  particles 
stirred  by  their  feet  and  more  resembling  ashes 
than  dust.  This  was  a  waste  place  of  the  island, 
and  if  one  were  to  lift  a  handful  of  the  soil, 
St.  George  thought,  it  was  very  likely  that  one 
might  detect  its  elements;  as,  here  the  dust  of 
a  temple,  here  of  a  book,  here  a  tomb  and  here 
a  sacrifice.  He  felt  himself  near  the  earth,  in 
its  making.  He  looked  away  to  the  sugar-loaf 
cone  of  the  mountain  risen  against  the  star-lit 
sky.  Above  its  fortress-like  bulk  with  circular 
ramparts  burned  the  clear  beacon  of  the  light  on 
the  king's  palace.  As  he  saw  the  light,  St.  George 
knew  himself  not  only  near  the  earth  but  at  one 
with  the  very  currents  of  the  air,  partaker  of 
now  a  hope,  now  a  task,  now  a  spell,  and  now 
a  memory.  It  was  as  if  love  had  made  him 
one  with  the  dust  of  dead  cities  and  with  their 
eternal  spiritual  effluence. 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  247 

At  length  they  crossed  the  broad  avenue  that  led 
from  the  Eurychorus  to  MeHta,  and  struck  into 
the  road  that  skirted  the  mountain;  and  where 
a  thicket  of  trees  flung  bold  branches  across  the 
way,  three  figures  rose  from  the  ground  before 
them,  and  Akko  stepped  forward  and  saluted, 
his  white  teeth  gleaming.  Immediately  Jarvo  led 
the  way  through  a  strip  of  imderbrush  at  the 
base  of  the  mountain,  and  they  emerged  in  a 
glade  where  the  light  hardly  penetrated. 

Here  were  distinguishable  the  palanquins 
In  which  the  ascent  was  to  be  made.  These  were 
like  long  baskets,  upborne  by  a  pole  of  great 
flexibility  broadening  to  a  wider  support  beneath 
the  body  of  the  basket  and  provided  with  rubber 
straps  through  which  the  arms  were  passed. 
When  St.  George  and  Amory  were  seated, 
Jarvo  spoke  hesitatingly: 

"  We  must  bandage  your  eyes,  ad6n,''  he  said. 

"  Oh  really,  really,"  protested  St.  George,  "  w^e 
don't  understand  half  we  do  see.  Do  let  us  see 
what  we  can." 

"  You  must  be  blindfolded,  ad6n,"  repeated 
Jarvo  firmly. 

Amory,  passing  his  arms  reflectively  through 
the  rubber  straps  which  Akko  held  for  him,  spoke 
cheerfully : 

"  I'll  go  up  blindfold,"  he  submitted,  "  if  I  can 
smoke." 

"  Neither  of  us  will,"  said  St.  George  with  deter- 


248  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

mination.  "See  here,  Jarvo,  we  are  both  level- 
headed. We  pledge  you  our  word  of  honour,  in 
addition,  not  to  dive  overboard.     Now — ^lead  on. " 

"  It  has  never  been  done,"  said  the  little  brown 
man  with  obstinacy,  "  you  will  lose  your  reason, 
adon." 

"  Ah  well  now,  if  we  do,"  said  St.  George, 
"  pitch  us  over  and  leave  us.  Besides,  I  think  we 
have.     Lead  on,  please." 

Against  the  will  of  the  others,  he  prevailed. 
The  light  oil-skins  were  placed  in  the  baskets,  each 
of  which  was  shouldered  by  two  men,  Jarvo 
bearing  the  foremost  pole  of  St.  George's  palan- 
quin. All  the  carriers  had  drawn  on  long,  soft 
shoes  which,  perhaps  from  some  preparation  in 
which  they  had  been  dipped,  glowed  with  light, 
illuminating  the  ground  for  a  little  distance  at 
every  step. 

"  Are  you  ready,  adon?  "  asked  Jarvo  and  Akko 
at  the  same  moment. 

"  Ready!  "  cried  St.  George  impatiently. 

"  Ready,"  said  Amory  languidly,  and  added 
one  thought  more:  "  I  hope  for  Chillingworth's 
sake,"  he  said,  "  that  Frothingham  is  a  notar}^ 
public.  We'll  have  to  have  somebody's  seal  at 
the  bottom    of   all  this  copy." 

The  baskets  were  lightly  lifted.  Jarvo  gave 
a  sharp  command,  and  all  four  of  the  men  broke 
into  a  rhythmic  chant.  Jarvo,  leading  the  way, 
sprang    immediately    upon    the    first    foothold, 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  213 

where  none  seemed  to  be,  and  without  pause  to 
the  next.  So  perfectly  were  the  men  trained  that 
it  was  as  if  but  one  set  of  muscles  were  inspir- 
ing the  movements  made  to  the  beat  of  that 
monotonous  measure.  In  their  strong  hands  the 
flexible  pole  seemed  to  give  as  their  bodies  gave, 
and  so  lightly  did  they  leap  upward  that  the  jar 
of  their  alighting  was  hardly  perceptible,  as  if,  as 
had  occurred  to  St.  George  as  they  ascended  the 
lip  of  the  island,  gravity  were  here  another  mat- 
ter. So,  without  pause,  save  in  the  rhythm  of 
that  strange  march  music,  the  remarkable  prog- 
ress was  begun. 

St.  George  threw  one  swift  glance  upward  and 
looked  down,  shudderingly.  Beetling  above  them 
in  the  great  starlight  hung  the  gigantic  pile, 
wall  upon  wall  of  rock  hewn  with  such  secret 
foothold  that  it  was  a  miracle  how  any  living 
thing  could  catch  and  cling  to  its  forbidding 
surface.  Only  lifelong  practice  of  the  men,  who 
from  childhood  had  been  required  to  make  the 
ascent  and  whose  fathers  and  fathers'  fathers 
before  them  had  done  the  same,  could  have 
accounted  for  that  catlike  ability  to  cling  to  the 
trail  where  was  no  trail.  The  sensation  of  the 
long  swinging  upward  movement  was  unutterably 
alien  to  anything  in  life  or  in  dreams,  and  the 
sheer  height  above  and  the  momently-deepening 
chasm  below  were  presences  contending  for  pos- 
session. 


250  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Strange  fragrance  stole  from  gum  and  bark 
of  the  decreasing  vegetation.  Dislodged  stones 
rolled  bounding  from  rock  to  rock  into  the  abyss. 
To  right  and  left  the  way  went.  There  was  not 
even  the  friendly  beacon  of  the  summit  to 
beckon  them.  It  seemed  to  St.  George  that  their 
whole  safety  lay  in  motion,  that  a  moment's  ces- 
sation from  the  advance  would  hurl  them  all 
down  the  sides  of  the  declivity.  Since  the  ascent 
began  he  had  not  ceased  to  look  down;  and  now 
as  they  rose  free  of  the  tree-tops  that  clothed  the 
base  of  the  mountain  he  could  see  across  the 
plain,  and  beyond  the  bounding  embankment  of 
the  island  to  the  dark  waste  of  the  sea.  Some- 
where out  there  The  Aloha  was  rocking.  Some- 
where, away  to  the  northwest,  the  lights  of 
New  York  harbour  shone.  Did  they,  St.  George 
wondered  vaguely;  and,  when  he  went  back, 
how  would  they  look  to  him?  It  seemed  to  him 
in  some  indeterminate  fashion  that  when  he  saw 
them  again  there  would  be  new  lines  and  sides  of 
beauty  which  he  had  never  suspected,  and  as  if 
all  the  world  would  be  changed,  included  in  this 
new  world  that  he  had  found. 

Half-way  up  the  ascent  a  resting-place  was  con- 
trived for  the  carriers.  The  projection  upon 
which  the  baskets  were  lowered  was  hardly  three 
feet  in  width.  Its  edge  dropped  into  darkness. 
Within  reach,  leaves  rustled  from  the  summit  of  a 
tree  rooted  somewhere  in  the  chasm.     The  black- 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  251 

ness  below  was  vast  and  to  be  measured  only  by 
the  memory  of  that  upward  course.  Gemmed 
by  its  lighted  hamlets  the  fair  plain  of  the  island 
lay,  with  Med  and  Melita  glowing  like  lamps  to 
the  huge  dusk. 

"  St.  George,"  said  Amory  soberly,  "if  it's  all 
true — ^if  these   people   do   understand   what   the 

world  doesn't  know  anything  about " 

"  Yes,"  said  St.  George. 

"  It  makes  a  man  feel " 

•'  Yes,"  said  St.  George,  "  it  does." 
This,  they  afterward  remembered,  was  all  that 
they  said  on  the   ascent.     One  wonders  if   two, 
being  met  among  the  "  strengthless  tribes  of  the 
dead,"  would  find  much  more  to  say. 

Then  they  went  on,  scaling  that  invisible 
way,  with  the  twinkling  feet  of  the  carriers  draw- 
ing upward  like  a  thread  of  thin  gold  which  they 
were  to  climb.  What,  St.  George  thought  as 
the  way  seemed  to  lengthen  before  them,  what 
if  there  were  no  end?  What  if  this  were  some 
gigantic  trick  of  Destiny  to  keep  him  for  the  rest 
of  his  life  in  mid-air,  ceaselessly  toiling  up,  a  lat- 
ter-day Sisyphus,  in  a  palanquin?  He  had 
dreamed  of  stairs  in  the  darkness  which  men 
mounted  and  found  to  have  no  summits,  and 
suppose  this  were  such  a  stair?  Suppose,  among 
these  marvels  that  were  related  to  his  dreams,  he 
had,  as  it  were,  tossed  a  ball  of  twine  in  the  air 
and,  like  the  Indian  jugglers,  climbed  it  ?   Suppose 


252  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

he  had  built  a  castle  in  the  clouds  and  tenanted 
it  with  Olivia,  and  were  now  foolhardily  attempt- 
ing to  scale  the  air?  Ah  well,  he  settled  it  con- 
tentedly, better  so.  For  this  divine  jugglery  comes 
once  into  every  life,  and  one  must  climb  to  the 
castle  with  madness  and  singing  if  he  would 
attain  to  the  temples  that  lie  on  the  castle-plain. 

Gradually,  as  they  approached  the  summit, 
the  ascent  became  less  precipitous.  As  they 
neared  the  cone  their  way  lay  over  a  kind  of 
natural  fosse  at  the  cone's  base;  and,  although 
the  mountain  did  not  reach  the  level  of  perpetual 
snow,  yet  an  occasional  cool  breath  from  the 
dark  told  where  in  some  natural  cavern  snow 
had  lain  undisturbed  since  the  unremembered 
eruption  of  the  sullen,  volcanic  peak.  Then 
came  a  breath  of  over-powering  sweetness  from 
some  secret  thicket,  and  something  was  struck 
from  the  feet  of  the  bearers  that  was  like  white 
pumice  gravel.  St.  George  no  longer  looked 
downward;  the  plain  and  the  waste  of  the  sea 
were  in  a  forgotten  limbo,  and  he  searched  eagerly 
on  high  for  the  first  rays  of  the  light  that  marked 
the  goal  of  his  longing. 

Yet  he  was  unprepared  when,  swerving 
sharply  and  skirting  an  immense  shoulder  of 
rock,  Jarvo  suddenly  emerged  upon  a  broad 
retaining  wall  of  stone  bordering  a  smooth,  moon- 
lit terrace  extending  by  shallow  flights  of  steps 
to  the  white  doors  of  the  king's  palace  itself. 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  253 

As  St.  George  and  Amory  freed  themselves 
and  sprang  to  their  feet  their  eyes  were  drawn 
to  a  glory  of  light  shining  over  the  low  parapet 
which  surrounded  the  terrace. 

"  Look,"  cried  St.  George  victoriously,  "  the 
moon!  " 

From  the  sea  the  moon  was  momently 
growing,  like  a  giant  bubble,  and  a  bright  path 
had  issued  to  the  mountain's  foot.  "  See,"  she 
would  doubtless  have  said  if  she  could,  "  I  would 
have  shown  you  the  way  here  all  your  life  if 
only  you  had  looked  properly."  But  at  all 
events  St.  George's  prophecy  was  fulfilled :  From 
the  top  of  Mount  Khalak  they  were  watching 
the  moon  rise.  St.  George,  however,  was  not 
yet  in  the  company  whose  image  had  pleasantly 
besieged  him  when  he  had  prophesied.  He 
turned  impatiently  to  the  palace.  Jarvo,  rest- 
ing on  the  stones  where  he  had  sunk  down, 
signaled  them  to  go  on,  and  the  two  needed  no 
second  bidding.  They  set  off  briskly  across  the 
plateau,  Amory  looking  about  him  with  eager 
curiosity,  St.  George  on  the  crest  of  his  divine 
expectancy. 

The  palace  was  set  on  the  west  of  the  gentle 
slope  to  which  the  mountain-top  had  been  arti- 
ficially leveled.  The  terrace  led  up  on  three 
sides  from  the  marge  of  the  height  to  the  great 
portals.  Over  everything  hung  that  imponder- 
able essence  that  vv'as  clearer  and  purer  than  any 


254  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

light — "  better  than  any  light  that  ever  shone." 
In  its  glamourie,  with  that  far  ocean  background, 
the  palace  of  pale  stone  looked  unearthly,  a  sky 
thing,  with  ramparts  of  air.  The  principle  of  the 
builders  seemed  not  to  have  been  the  ancient 
dictum  that  "  mass  alone  is  admirable,"  for  the 
great  pile  was  shaped,  with  beauty  of  unknown 
line,  in  three  enormous  cylinders,  one  rising  from 
another,  the  last  magnificently  curved  to  a  huge 
dome  on  whose  summit  burned  with  inconceiv- 
able brilliance  the  light  which  had  been  a  beacon 
to  the  longing  eyes  turned  toward  it  from  the 
deck  of  The  Aloha.  In  the  shadow  of  the  palace 
rose  two  high  towers,  obelisk-shaped  from  the 
pure  white  stone.  Scattered  about  the  slope  were 
detached  buildings,  consisting  of  marble  mono- 
liths resting  upon  double  bases  and  crowned  with 
carved  cornices,  or  of  truncated  pyramids  and 
pyramidions.  These  had  plinths  of  delicately- 
coloured  stone  over  which  the  light  diffused  so 
that  they  looked  luminous,  and  the  small  blocks 
used  to  fill  the  apertures  of  the  courses  shone  like 
precious  things.  Adjacent  to  one  of  the  porches 
were  two  conical  shrines,  for  images  and  little 
lamps;  and,  near-by,  a  fallen  pillar  of  immense  pro- 
portions lay  undisturbed  upon  the  court  of 
sward  across  which  it  had  some  time  shivered 
down. 

But  if  the  palace  had  been  discovered  to  be 
the  preserved  and  transported  Temple  of  Solo- 


THE  LINES  LEAD  UP  255 

mon  it  could  not  have  stayed  St.  George  for  one 
moment  of  admiration.  He  was  off  up  the  slope, 
seeing  only  the  great  closed  portals,  and  with 
Amory  beside  him  he  ran  boldly  up  the  long 
steps.  It  was  a  part  of  the  unreality  of  the 
place  that  there  seemed  absolutely  no  sign  of 
life  about  the  King's  palace.  The  windows  glowed 
with  the  soft  light  within,  but  there  were  no 
guards,  no  servants,  no  sign  of  any  presence. 
For  the  first  time,  when  they  reached  the  top  of 
the  steps,  the  two  men  hesitated. 

"  Personally,"  said  Amory  doubtfully,  "  I  have 
never  yet  tapped  at  a  king's  front  door.  What 
does  one  do?  " 

St.  George  looked  at  the  long  stone  porches, 
uncovered  and  girt  by  a  parapet  following  the 
curve  of  the  fagade. 

"  Would  you  mind  waiting  a  minute?  "  he  said. 

With  that  he  was  off  along  the  balcony  to  the 
south — and  afterward  he  wondered  why,  and  if 
it  is  true  that  Fate  tempts  us  in  the  way  that 
she  would  have  us  walk  by  luring  us  with 
unseen  roses  budding  from  the  air. 

Where  the  porch  abruptly  widened  to  a  kind 
of  upper  terrace,  like  a  hanging  garden  set  with 
flowering  trees,  three  high  archways  opened  to 
an  apartment  whose  bright  lights  streamed 
across  the  grass-plots.  St.  George  felt  something 
tug  at  his  heart,  something  that  urged  him  forward 
and  caught  him  up  in  an  ecstasy  of  triumph  and 


256  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

hope  fulfilled.  He  looked  back  at  Amory,  and 
Amory  was  leaning  on  the  parapet,  apparently- 
sunk  in  reflections  which  concerned  nobody. 
So  St.  George  stepped  softly  on  until  he  reached 
the  first  archway,  and  there  he  stopped,  and  the 
moment  was  to  him  almost  past  belief.  Within 
the  open  doorway,  so  near  that  if  she  had 
lifted  her  eyes  they  must  have  met  his  own,  was 
the  woman  whom  he  had  come  across  the  sea 
to  seek. 

St.  George  hardly  knew  that  he  spoke,  for  it 
was  as  if  all  the  world  were  singing  her  name. 

"Olivia!"  he  said. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   ISLE  OF   HEARTS 

The  room  in  which  St.  George  was  looking  was 
long  and  lofty  and  hung  with  pale  tapestries. 
White  pillars  supporting  the  domed  white  ceiling 
were  wound  with  garlands.  The  smoke  from  a 
little  brazen  tripod  ascended  pleasantly,  and 
about  the  windows  stirred  in  the  faint  wind  dra- 
peries of  exceeding  thinness,  woven  in  looms 
stilled  centuries  ago. 

Olivia  was  crossing  before  the  windows.  She 
wore  a  white  gown  strewn  with  roses,  and  she 
seemed  as  much  at  home  on  this  alien  mountain- 
top  as  she  had  been  in  her  aunt's  drawing-room 
at  the  Boris.  But  her  face  was  sad,  and  there 
was  not  a  touch  of  the  piquancy  which  it  had 
worn  the  night  before  in  the  throne-room,  nor  of 
its  delicious  daring  as  she  had  sped  past  him  in  the 
bigYaque  touring  car.  Save  for  her,  the  room 
was  deserted;  it  was  as  if  the  prince  had  come  to 
the  castle  and  found  the  Sleeping  Princess  the 
only  one  awake. 

257 


258  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

If  in  that  supreme  moment  St.  George  had 
leaped  forward  and  taken  her  in  his  arms  no  one 
— no  one,  that  is,  in  the  fairy-tale  of  what  was 
happening — would  greatly  have  censured  him. 
But  he  stood  without  for  a  moment,  hardly  daring 
to  believe  his  happiness,  hardly  knowing  that  her 
name  was  on  his  lips. 

He  had  spoken,  however,  and  she  turned 
quickly,  her  look  uncertainly  seeking  the  doorway, 
and  she  saw  him.  For  a  moment  she  stood 
still,  her  eyes  upon  his  face;  then  with  a  little 
incredulous  cry  that  thrilled  him  with  a  sudden 
joyous  hope  that  was  like  belief,  she  came  swiftly 
toward  him. 

St.  George  loved  to  remember  that  she  did  that. 
There  was  no  waiting  for  assurance  and  no  fear; 
only  the  impulse,  gloriously  obeyed,  to  go  toward 
him. 

He  stepped  in  the  room,  and  took  her  hands 
in  his  and  looked  into  her  eyes  as  if  he  would 
never  turn  away  his  own.  In  her  face  was  a 
dawning  of  glad  certainty  and  welcome  which  he 
could  not  doubt. 

"  You,"  she  cried  softly,  "  you.  How  is  it 
possible?     But  how  is  it  possible?  " 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  with  something  so 
sweet  that  it  raced  through  his  veins  with  magic. 

"  Did  you  rub  the  lamp?  "  he  said.  "  Because 
I  couldn't  help  coming." 

She  looked  at  him  breathlessly. 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  259 

"  Have  you,"  he  asked  her  gravely,  "  eaten  of 
the  potatoes  of  Yaque?  And  are  you  going  to 
say,  '  Off  with  his  head'?  And  can  you  tell  me 
what  is  the  population  of  the  island?  " 

At  that  they  both  laughed — the  merry,  irre- 
pressible laugh  of  youth  which  explains  that  the 
world  is  a  very  good  place  indeed  and  that  one 
is  glad  that  one  belongs  there.  And  the  memory 
of  that  breakfast  on  the  other  side  of  the  world, 
of  their  happy  talk  about  what  would  happen  if 
they  two  were  impossibly  to  meet  in  Yaque  came 
back  to  them  both,  and  set  his  heart  beating  and 
flooded  her  face  with  delicate  colour.  In  her 
laugh  was  a  little  catching  of  the  breath  that  was 
enchanting. 

"  Not  yet,"  she  said,  "  your  head  is  safe  till 
you  tell  me  how  you  got  here,  at  all  events.  Now 
tell  me — oh,  tell  me.  I  can't  believe  it  until  you 
tell  me." 

She  moved  a  little  away  from  the  door. 

'*  Come  in,"  she  said  shyly,  "  if  you've  come 
all  the  way  from  America  you  must  be  very 
tired." 

St.  George  shook  his  head. 

"  Come  out,"  he  pleaded,  "  I  want  to  stand  on 
top  of  a  high  mountain  and  show  you  the  whole 
world." 

She  went  quite  simply  and  without  hesitation 
— because,  in  Yaque,  the  maddest  things  would 
be  the  truest — and  when  she  had  stepped  from 


260  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  low  doorway  she  looked  up  at  him  in  the 
tender  light  of  the  garden  terrace. 

"  If  you  are  quite  sure,"  she  said,  "  that  you 
will  not  disappear  in  the  dark?  " 

St.  George  laughed  happily. 

"  I  shall  not  disappear,"  he  promised,  "  though 
the  world  were  to  turn  round  the  other 
way." 

They  crossed  the  still  terrace  to  the  parapet 
and  stood  looking  out  to  sea  with  the  risen  moon 
shining  across  the  waters.  The  light  wind  stirred 
in  the  cedrine  junipers,  shaking  out  perfume;  the 
great  fairy  pile  of  the  palace  rose  behind  them; 
and  before  them  lay  the  monstrous  moon-lit 
abyss  than  whose  depths  the  very  stars,  warm 
and  friendly,  seemed  nearer  to  them.  To  the  big 
young  American  in  blue  serge  beside  the  little 
new  princess  who  had  drawn  him  over  seas  the 
dream  that  one  is  always  having  and  never  quite 
remembering  was  suddenly  come  true.  No  won- 
der that  at  that  moment  the  patient  Amory  was 
far  enough  from  liis  mind.  To  St.  George,  looking 
down  upon  Olivia,  there  was  only  one  truth  and 
one  joy  in  the  universe,  and  she  was  that  truth 
and  that  joy. 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  he  said  boyishly. 

"  Believe — what  ?"  she  asked,  for  the  delight 
of  hearing  him  say  so. 

"  This — me — most  of  all,  you!  "  he  answered. 

"  But  you  must  believe  it, "  she  cried  anxiously, 
"  or  maybe  it  will  stop  being." 


THE  ISLE  OE  HEARTS  261. 

'*  I  will,  I  will,  I  am  now!  "  promised  St.  George 
in  alarm. 

Whereat  they  both  laughed  again  in  sheer  light- 
heartedness.  Then,  resting  his  broad  shoulders 
against  a  prism  of  the  parapet,  St.  George  looked 
down  at  her  in  infinite  content. 

"  You  found  the  island,"  she  said;  "  what  is 
still  more  wonderful  you  have  come  here — but 
here — to  the  top  of  the  mountain.  Oh,  did  you 
bring  news  of  my  father?  " 

St.  George  would  have  given  everything  save 
the  sweet  of  the  moment  to  tell  her  that  he  did. 

"  But  now,"  he  added  cheerfully,  and  his 
smile  disarmed  this  of  its  over-confidence,  "  I've 
only  been  here  two  days  or  so.  And,  though 
it  may  look  easy,  I've  had  my  hands  full  climbing 
up  this.  I  ought  to  be  allowed  another  day  or 
two  to  locate  your  father." 

"  Please  tell  me  how  you  got  here,"  Olivia 
demanded  then. 

St.  George  told  her  briefly,  omitting  the  yacht's 
ownership,  explaining  merely  that  the  paper  had 
sent  him  and  that  Jarvo  and  Akko  had  pointed 
the  way  and,  save  for  that  journey  down  nebulous 
ways  in  the  wake  of  her  veil  the  night  before, 
sketching  the  incidents  which  had  followed  his 
arrival  upon  the  island. 

"  And  one  of  the  most  agreeable  hours  I've 
bad  in  Yaque,"  he  finished,  "  was  last  night, 
when  you  were  chairman  of  the  meeting.  That 
was  magnificent." 


262  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  You  were  there!  "  cried  Olivia,  "  I  thought — " 

"  That  you  saw  me?  "  St.  George  pressed 
eagerly. 

"  I  think  that  I  thought  so,"  she  admitted. 

"  But  you  never  looked  at  me,"  said  St. 
George  dolefully,  "  and  I  had  on  a  forty-two 
gored  dress,  or  something." 

"Ah,"  Olivia  confessed,  "  but  I  had  thought 
so  before  when  I  knew  it  couldn't  be  you." 

St.  George's  heart  gave  a  great  bound. 

"  When  before?  "  he  wanted  to  know  ecstati- 
cally. 

"  Ah,  before,"  she  explained,  "  and  then  after- 
ward, too." 

"  When  afterward?  "  he  urged. 

(Smile  if  you  like,  but  this  is  the  way  the  happy 
talk  goes  in  Yaque  as  you  remember  very  well, 
if  you  are  honest.) 

"  Yesterday,  when  I  was  motoring,  I  thought — " 

"  I  was.  You  did,"  St.  George  assured  her. 
"  I  was  in  the  prince's  motor.  The  procession 
was  temporarily  tied  up,  you  remember.  Did 
you  really  think  it  was  I?  " 

But  this  the  lady  passed  serenely  over. 

"  Last  night,"  she  said,  "  when  that  terrible 
thing  happened,  who  was  it  in  the  other  motor? 
Who  was  it,  there  in  the  road  when  I — was  it 
you?     Was  it?  "  she  demanded, 

"  Did  you  think  it  was  I?  "  asked  St.  George 
simply. 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  263 

"  Afterward— when  I  was  back  in  the  palace— 
I  thought  I  must  have  dreamed  it,"  she  answered, 
"  and  no  one  seemed  to  know,  and  /  didn't  know. 
But  I  did  fancy— you  see,  they  think  father  has 
taken  the  treasure,"  she  said,  "  and  they 
thought  if  they  could  hide  me  somewhere  and  let 
it  be  known,  that  he  would  make  some  sign." 

"It  was  monstrous,"  said  St.  George;  "you 
are  really  not  safe  here  for  one  moment.  Tell 
me,"  he  asked  eagerly,  "the  car  you  were  in— 
what  became  of  that?  " 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you  that,"  she  said  quickly. 
"  I  couldn't  tell,  I  didn't  know  whether  it  turned 
aside  from  the  road,  or  whether  they  dropped  me 
out  and  went  on.  Really,  it  was  all  so  quick 
that  it  was  almost  as  if  the  motor  had  stopped 
being,  and  left  me  there." 

"  Perhaps  it  did  stop  being— in  this  dimension," 

St.  George  could  not  help  saying. 

At  this  she  laughed  in  assent. 

"  Who  knows,"  she  said,   "  what  may  be  true 

of  us — 710US  autres  in  the  Fourth  Dimension?     In 

Yaque  queer  things  are  true.     And  of  course  you 

never  can  tell " 

At  this  St.  George  turned  toward  her,  and  his 
eyes  compelled  hers. 

"Ah,  yes,  you  can,"  he  told  her,  "  yes,  you  can." 
Then  he  folded  his  arms  and  leaned  against  the 
stone  prisms  again,  looking  down  at  her.     Evi- 
dently the  magician,   whoever  he   was,   did  not 


264  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

mind  his  saying  that,  for  the  palace  did  not  crumble 
or  the  moon  cease  from  shining  on  the  white 
walls. 

"  Still,"  she  answered,  looking  toward  the  sea, 
"  queer  things  are  true  in  Yaque.  It  is  queer 
that  you  are  here.     Say  that  it  is." 

"  Heaven  knows  that  it  is,"  assented  St.  George 
obediently. 

Presently,  realizing  that  the  terrace  did  not 
intend  to  turn  into  a  cloud  out-of-hand,  they  set 
themselves  to  talk  seriously,  and  St.  George  had 
not  known  her  so  adorable,  he  was  once  more 
certain,  as  when  she  tried  to  thank  him  for  his 
pursuit  the  night  before.  He  had  omitted  to 
mention  that  he  had  brought  her  back  alone  to 
the  Palace  of  the  Litany,  for  that  was  too  exquis- 
ite a  thing,  he  decided,  to  be  spoiled  by  leaving 
out  the  most  exquisite  part.  Besides,  there  was 
enough  that  was  serious  to  be  discussed,  in  all 
conscience,  in  spite  of  the  moon. 

"  Tell  me,"  said  St.  George  instead,  "  what 
has  happened  to  you  since  that  breakfast  at  the 
Boris.  Remember,  I  have  come  all  the  way  from 
New  York  to  interview  you.  Mademoiselle  the 
Princess." 

So  Olivia  told  him  the  story  of  the  passage  in 
the  submarine  which  had  arrived  in  Yaque  two 
days  earlier  than  The  Aloha;  of  the  first  trip  up 
Mount  Khalak  in  the  imperial  airship;  of  Mrs. 
Hastings'  frantic  fear  and  her  utter  refusal  ever 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  265 

to  descend;  and  of  what  she  herself  had  done 
since  her  arrivah  This  included  a  most  practical 
account  of  effort  that  delighted  and  amazed  St. 
George.  No  wonder  Mrs.  Hastings  had  said  that 
she  always  left  everything  "  executive  "  to  Olivia. 
For  Olivia  had  sent  wireless  messages  all  over 
the  island  offering  an  immense  reward  for  infor- 
mation about  the  king,  her  father;  she  had  assigned 
forty  servants  of  the  royal  household  to  engage 
in  a  personal  search  for  such  information  and  to 
report  to  her  each  night;  she  had  ordered  every 
house  in  Yaque,  not  excepting  the  House  of  the 
Litany  and  the  king's  palace  itself,  to  be  searched 
from  dungeon  to  tower;  and,  as  St.  George  already 
knew,  she  had  brought  about  a  special  meeting 
of  the  High  Council  at  noon  that  day. 

"  It  was  very  little,"  said  the  American  princess 
apologetically,  "  but  I  did  what  I  could." 

"  What  about  the  meeting  of  the  High  Council  ? ' ' 
asked  St.  George  eagerly;  "  didn't  anything  come 
of  that?  " 

"Nothing,"  she  answered,  "  they  were  like 
adamant.  I  thought  of  offering  to  raise  the 
Hereditary  Treasure  by  incorporating  the  island 
and  selling  the  shares  in  America.  Nobody  could 
ever  have  found  what  the  shares  stood  for,  but 
that  happens  every  day.  Half  the  corporations 
must  be  capitalized  chiefly  in  the  Fourth  Dimen- 
sion. That  is  all,"  she  added  wearily,  "  save  that 
day  after  to-morrow  I  am  to  be  married." 


266  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"That,"  St.  George  explained,  "is  as  you  like. 
For  if  your  father  is  on  the  island  we  shall  have 
found  him  by  day  after  to-morrow,  at  noon,  if 
we  have  to  shake  all  Yaque  inside  out,  like  a 
paper  sack.  And  if  he  isn't  here,  we  simply 
needn't  stop." 

Olivia  shook  her  head. 

"  You  don't  know  the  prince,"  she  said.  "I 
have  heard  enough  to  convince  me  that  it  is  quite 
as  he  says.  He  holds  events  in  the  hollow  of  his 
hand." 

"  Amory  proposed,"  said  St.  George,  '*  that  we 
sit  up  here  and  throw  pebbles  at  him  for  a  time. 
And  Amory  is  very  practical." 

Olivia  laughed — her  laugh  was  delicious  and 
alluring,  and  St.  George  came  dangerously 
near  losing  his  head  every  time  that  he  heard  it. 

"  Ah,"  she  cried,  "  if  only  it  weren't  for  the 
prince  and  if  we  had  news  of  father,  what  a 
heavenjy,  heavenly  place  this  would  be,  would 
it  not?  " 

"It  would,  it  would  indeed,"  assented  St. George, 
and  in  his  heart  he  said,  "  and  so  it  is." 

"  It's  like  being  somewhere  else,"  she  said, 
looking  into  the  abyss  of  far  waters,  "  and  when 
you  look  down  there — and  when  you  look  up, 
you  nearly  know.  I  don't  know  what,  but  you 
nearly  know.  Perhaps  you  know  that  '  here  '  is 
the  same  as  '  there,'  as  all  these  people  say.  But 
whatever  it  is,   I   think   we   might   have   come 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  267 

almost  as  near  knowing  it  in  New  York,  if  we  had 
only  known  how  to  try." 

"  Perhaps  it  isn't  so  much  knowing,"  he  said, 
"as  it  is  being  where  you  can't  help  facing 
mystery  and  taking  the  time  to  be  amazed. 
Although,"  added  St.  George  to  himself,  "  there 
are  things  that  one  finds  out  in  New  York.  In 
a  drawing-room,  at  the  Boris,  for  instance,  over 
muffins  and  tea." 

"  It  will  be  delightful  to  take  all  this  back  to 
New  York,"  Olivia  vaguely  added,  as  if  she  meant 
the  fairy  palace  and  the  fairy  sea. 

"  It  will,"  agreed  St.  George  fervently,  and  he 
couldn't  possibly  have  told  whether  he  meant  the 
mystery  of  the  island  or  the  mystery  of  that  hour 
there  with  her.     There  was  so  little  difference. 

"  Suppose,"  said  Olivia  whimsically,  "  that  we 
open  our  eyes  in  a  minute,  and  find  that  we  are 
in  the  prince's  room  in  McDougle  Street,  and  that 
he  has  passed  his  hand  before  our  faces  and  made 
us  dream  all  this.     And  father  is  safe  after  all." 

"  But  it  isn't  all  a  dream,"  St.  George  said 
softly,  "  it  can't  possibly  all  be  a  dream,  you 
know." 

She  met  his  eyes  for  a  moment. 

"  Not  your  coming  away  here,"  she  said, 
"  if  the  rest  is  true  I  wouldn't  want  that  to  be  a 
dream.  You  don't  know  what  courage  this  will 
give  us  all." 

She  said  "  us  all,"  but  that  had  to  mean  merely 


268  ROMANCE  IvSLAND 

"  US,"  as  well.  St.  George  turned  and  looked  over 
the  terrace.  What  an  Arabian  night  it  was,  he 
was  saying  to  himself,  and  then  stood  in  a  sudden 
amazement,  with  the  uncertain  idea  that  one  of 
the  Schererazade  magicians  had  answered  that 
fancy  of  his  by  appearing. 

A  little  shrine  hung  thick  with  vines,  its  ancient 
stone  chipped  and  defaced,  stood  on  the  terrace 
with  its  empty,  sightless  niche  turned  toward  the 
sea.  Leaning  upon  its  base  was  an  old  man 
watching  them.  His  eyes  under  their  lowered 
brows  were  peculiarly  intent,  but  his  look  was 
perfectly  serene  and  friendly.  His  stuff  robe 
hung  in  straight  folds  about  his  singularly  erect 
figure,  and  his  beard  and  hair  were  not  all  grey. 
But  he  was  very  old,  with  incredibly  brown  and 
wrinkled  flesh,  and  his  face  was  vacant,  as  if  the 
mind  were  asleep. 

As  he  looked,  St.  George  knew  him.  Here  on 
the  top  of  this  mountain  was  that  amazing  old 
man  whom  he  had  last  seen  in  the  banquet  hall 
at  the  Palace  of  the  Litany — that  old  Malakh 
for  whom  Olivia  had  so  unexplainably  interceded. 

"  What  is  that  man  doing  here?  "  St.  George 
asked  in  surprise. 

"He  is  a  mad  old  man,  they  said,"  Olivia 
told  him,  "  down  there  they  call  him  Malakh — 
that  means  '  salt  ' — ^because  they  said  he  always 
weeps.  We  had  stopped  to  look  at  a  metallurgist 
yesterday — he  had  some  zinc  and   some   metals 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  269 

cut  out  like  flowers,  and  he  was  making  them 
show  phosphorescent  colours  in  his  little  dark 
alcove.  The  old  man  was  watching  him  and  try- 
ing to  tell  him  something,  but  the  metallurgist 
was  rude  to  him  and  some  boys  came  by  and 
jostled  him  and  pushed  him  about  and  taunted 
him — and  the  metallurgist  actually  explained  to 
us  that  every  one  did  that  way  to  old  Malakh. 
So  I  thought  he  was  better  off  up  here,"  con- 
cluded Olivia  tranquilly. 

St.  George  was  silent.  He  knew  that  Olivia 
was  like  this,  but  everything  that  proved  anew 
her  loveliness  of  soul  caught  at  his  heart, 

"  Tell  me,"  he  said  impulsively,  "  what  made 
you  let  him  stay  last  night,  there  in  the  banquet 
hall?  " 

She  flushed,  and  shook  her  head  with  a  depre- 
catory gesture. 

"  I  haven't  an  idea,"  she  said  gravely,  "  I 
think  I  must  have  done  it  so  the  fairies  wouldn't 
prick  their  feet  on  any  new  sorrow.  One  has  to 
be  careful  of  the  fairies'  feet." 

St.  George  nodded.  It  was  a  charming  reason 
for  the  left  hand  to  give  the  right,  and  he  was  not 
deceived. 

"  Look  at  him,"  said  St.  George,  almost  rev- 
erently, "he  looks  like  a  shade  of  a  god  that 
has  come  back  from  the  other  world  and  found 
his  shrine  dishonoured." 

Some  echo  of  St.  George's  words  reached  the  old 


270  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

man  and  he  caught  at  it,  smiling.  It  was  as  if  he 
had  just  been  thinking  what  he  spoke. 

"  There  are  not  enough  shrines,"  he  said 
gently,  "  but  there  are  far  too  many  gods.  You 
will  find  it  so." 

Something  in  his  words  stirred  St.  George 
strangely.  There  was  about  the  old  creature  an 
air  of  such  gentleness,  such  supreme  repose  and 
detachment  that,  even  in  that  place  of  quiet,  his 
presence  made  a  kind  of  hush.  He  was  old  and 
pallid  and  fragile,  but  there  lingered  within  him, 
while  his  spirit  lingered,  the  perfume  of  all  fine 
and  gentle  things,  all  things  of  quietude.  When 
he  had  spoken  the  old  man  turned  and  moved 
slowly  down  the  ways  of  strange  light,  between 
the  fallen  temples  builded  to  forgotten  gods,  and 
he  seemed  like  the  very  spirit  of  the  ancient 
mountain,  ignorant  of  itself  and  knowing  all 
truth. 

"  How  strange,"  said  St.  George,  looking  after 
him,  "  how  unutterably  strange  and  sad." 

"That  is  good  of  you,"  said  Olivia.  "Aunt 
Dora  and  Antoinette  thought  I'd  gone  quite  off 
my  head,  and  Mr.  Frothingham  wanted  to  know 
why  I  didn't  bring  back  some  one  who  could  have 
been  called  as  a  witness.  " 

"  Witness,"  St.  George  echoed;  "  but  the  whole 
place  is  made  of  witnesses.  Which  reminds  me: 
what  is  the  sentence?  " 

"  The  sentence?  "  she  wondered. 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  271 

"The  potatoes  of  Yaque,"  he  reminded  her, 
**  and  my  head?  " 

"  Ah  well,"  said  Olivia  gravely,  "  inasmuch  as 
the  moon  came  up  in  the  east  to-night  instead 
of  the  west,  I  shall  be  generous  and  give  you  one 
day's  reprieve." 

"  Do  you  know,  I  thought  the  moon  came  up 
in  the  east  to-night,"  cried  St.  George  joyfully. 

It  was  half  an  hour  afterward  that  Amory's 
languid  voice  from  somewhere  in  the  sky  broke 
in  upon  their  talk.  As  he  came  toward  them 
across  the  terrace  St.  George  saw  that  he  was 
miraculously  not  alone. 

Afterward  Amory  told  him  what  had  happened 
and  what  had  made  him  abide  in  patience  and 
such  wondrous  self-effacement. 

When  St.  George  had  left  him  contemplating 
the  far  beauties  of  the  little  blur  of  light  that  was 
Med,  Mr.  Toby  Amory  set  a  match  to  one  of  his 
jealously  expended  store  of  Habanas  and  added 
one  more  aroma  to  the  spiced  air.  To  be  stand- 
ing on  the  doorstep  of  a  king's  palace,  confidently 
expecting  within  the  next  few  hours  to  assist 
in  locating  the  king  himself  was  a  situation  war- 
ranting, Amory  thought,  svich  fragrant  celebra- 
tion, and  he  waited  in  comparative  content. 

The  moon  had  climbed  high  enough  to  cast 
a  great  octagonal  shadow  on  the  smooth  court, 
and  the  Habana  was  two-thirds  memory  when. 


272  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

immediately  back  of  Amory,  a  long  windo\^ 
opened  outward,  releasing  an  apparition  which 
converted  the  remainder  of  the  Habana  into  a 
fiery  trail  ending  out  on  the  terrace.  It  was  a 
girl  of  rather  more  than  twenty,  exquisitely  petite 
and  pretty,  and  wearing  a  ruffley  blue  evening 
gown  whose  skirt  was  caught  over  her  arm.  She 
stopped  short  when  she  saw  Amory,  but  without 
a  trace  of  fear.  To  tell  the  truth,  Antoinette 
Frothingham  had  got  so  desperately  bored  with- 
indoors that  if  Amory  had  worn  a  black  mask 
or  a  cloak  of  flame  she  would  have  welcomed 
either. 

For  the  last  two  hours  Mrs.  Medora  Hastings 
and  Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham  had  sat  in  a 
white  marble  room  of  the  king's  palace,  playing 
chess  on  Mr.  Frothingham 's  pocket  chess-board. 
Mr.  Frothingham,  who  loathed  chess,  played  it 
when  he  was  tired  so  that  he  might  rest  and 
when  he  was  rested  he  played  it  so  that  he  might 
exercise  his  mind — on  the  principle  of  a  cool 
drink  on  a  hot  day  and  a  hot  drink  on  a  cool  day. 
Mrs.  Hastings,  who  knew  nothing  at  all  about 
the  game,  had  entered  upon  the  hour  with  all 
the  suave  complacency  with  which  she  would 
have  attacked  the  making  of  a  pie.  Mrs.  Hastings 
had  a  secret  belief  that  she  possessed  great  apti- 
tude. 

Antoinette  Frothingham,  the  lawyer's  daugh- 
ter,   had    leaned    on    the    high    casement     and 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  273 

looked  o\er  the  sea.  The  window  was  narrow, 
and  deep  in  an  embrasure  of  stone.  To  be  twenty 
and  to  be  leaning  in  this  palace  window  wearing 
a  pale  blue  dinner-gown  manifestly  suggested 
a  completion  of  the  picture;  and  all  that  evening 
it  had  been  impressing  her  as  inappropriate  that 
the  maiden  and  the  castle  tower  and  the  very 
sea  itself  should  all  be  present,  with  no  possibility 
of  any  knight  within  an  altitude  of  many 
hundred  feet. 

"  The  dear  little  ponies'  heads!  "  Mrs.  Hastings 
had  kept  saying.  "  What  a  poetic  game  chess  is, 
Mr.  Frothingham,  don't  you  think?  That's  what 
I  always  said  to  poor  dear  Mr.  Hastings — at  least, 
that's  what  he  always  said  to  me :  '  Most  games 
are  so  needless,  but  chess  is  really  up  and  down 
poetic'  " 

Mr.  Frothingham  made  all  ready  to  speak  and 
then  gave  it  up  in  silence. 

"  Um,"  he  had  responded  liberally. 

"I'm  sure,"  Mrs.  Hastings  had  continued 
plaintively,  "  neither  he  nor  I  ever  thought  that 
I  would  be  playing  chess  up  on  top  of  a  volcano 
in  the  middle  of  the  ocean.  It's  this  awful  feeling," 
Mrs.  Hastings  had  cried  querulously,  "  of  being 
neither  on  earth  nor  under  the  water  nor  in  Heaven 
that  I  object  to.     And  nobody  can  get  to  us." 

"  That's  just  it,  Mrs.  Hastings,"  Antoinette  had 
observed  earnestly  at  this  juncture. 

"  Um,"  said  Mr.  Frothingham,  then,  "  not  at 


274  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

all,  not  at  all.  We  have  all  the  advantages  of 
the  grave  and  none  of  its  discomforts." 

Whereupon  Antoinette,  rising  suddenly,  had 
slipped  out  of  the  white  marble  room  altogether 
and  had  found  the  knight  smoking  in  loneliness 
on  the  very  veranda. 

Amory  put  his  cap  under  his  arm  and  bowed. 

"  I  hope,"  he  said,  "  that  I  haven't  frightened 
you." 

He  was  an  American !  Antoinette's  little  heart 
leaped. 

"  I  am  having  to  wait  here  for  a  bit,"  explained 
Amory,  not  without  vagueness. 

Miss  Frothingham  advanced  to  the  veranda 
rail  and  contrived  a  shy  scrutiny  of  the  intruder. 

"  No,"  she  said,  "  you  didn't  frighten  me  in 
the  least,  of  course.  But — do  you  usually  do 
your  waiting  at  this  altitude?  " 

"  Ah,  no,"  answered  Amory  with  engaging  can- 
dour, "  I  don't.  But  I — happened  up  this  way." 
Amory  paused  a  little  desperately.  In  that  soft 
light  he  could  not  tell  positively  whether  this 
was  Miss  Holland  or  that  other  figure  of  silver 
and  rose  which  he  had  seen  in  the  throne  room. 
The  blue  gown  was  not  interpretative.  If  she 
was  Miss  Holland  it  would  be  very  shabby  of  him 
to  herald  the  surprise.  Naturally,  St.  George 
would  appreciate  doing  that  himself.  "I'm  look- 
ing about  a  bit,"  he  neatly  temporized. 

Antoinette  suddenly  looked  away  over  the  ter- 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  275 

race  as  her  eyes  met  his,  smiling  behind  their 
pince-nez.  Amory  was  good  to  look  at,  and  he 
had  never  been  more  so  than  as  he  towered  above 
her  on  the  steps  of  the  king's  palace.  Who  was 
he — but  who  was  he  ?  Antoinette  wondered 
rapidly.  Had  a  warship  arrived  ?  Was  Yaque 
taken?  Or  had — she  tm^ned  eyes,  round  with 
sudden  fear,  upon  Amory. 

"  Did  Prince  Tabnit  send  you?  "  she  demanded. 

Amory  laughed. 

"No,  indeed,"  he  said.  Amory  had  once 
lived  in  the  South,  and  he  accented  the  "no"  very 
takingly.     "  I  came  myself,"  he  volunteered. 

"  I  thought,"  explained  Antoinette,  "  that 
maybe  he  opened  a  door  in  the  dark,  and  you 
walked  out.  It  is  rather  funny  that  you  should 
be  here." 

"  You  are  here,  you  know,"  suggested  Amory 
doubtfully. 

"  But  I  may  be  a  cannibal  princess,"  Antoinette 
demurely  pointed  out.  It  was  not  that  her 
astonishment  was  decreasing;  but  why — moder- 
nity and  the  democracy  spoke  within  her — waste 
the  possibilities  of  a  situation  merely  because  it 
chances  to  be  astonishing  ?  Moments  of  mystery 
are  rare  enough,  in  all  conscience;  and  when 
they  do  arrive  all  the  world  misses  them  by 
trying  to  understand  them.  Which  is  manifestly 
ungrateful  and  stupid.  They  do  these  things 
better  in  Yaque. 


27G  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"You  maybe,"  agreed  Amory  evenly,  "though 
I  don't  know  that  I  ever  met  a  desert  island 
princess  in  a  dinner  frock.  But  then,  I  am  a 
beginner  in  desert  islands." 

"  Are  you  an  American?  "  inquired  Antoinette 
earnestly. 

Amory  looked  up  at  the  frowning  fagade  of  the 
king's  palace,  and  he  could  have  found  it  in  his 
heart  to  believe  his  own  answer. 

"I'm  the  ghost,"  he  confessed,  "  of  a  poor 
beggar  of  a  Phoenician  who  used  to  make  water- 
jars  in  Sidon.  I  have  been  condemned  to 
plow  the  high  seas  and  explore  the  tall  moun- 
tains until  I  find  the  Pitiful  Princess.  She 
must  be  up  at  the  very  peak,  in  distress, 
and   I " 

Amory  stopped  and  looked  desperately  about 
him.  Would  St.  George  never  come?  How  was 
he,  Amory,  to  be  accountable  for  what  he  told 
if  he  were  left  here  alone  in  these  extraordi- 
nary circumstances? 

Then  Antoinette  lightly  clapped  her  hands. 

"A  ghost !  "  she  exclaimed  with  pleasure.  "  Miss 
Holland  hoped  the  place  was  haunted.  A  Phoe- 
nician ghost  with  an  Alabama  accent." 

She  had  said  "  Miss  Holland  hoped." 

"  Aren't  you— aren't  you  Miss  Holland?  " 
demanded  Amory  promptly,  a  joyful  note  of 
uncertainty  in  his  voice. 

Antoinette  shook  her  head. 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  277 

"No,"  she  said,  "though  I  don't  know  why 
I  should  tell  you  that." 

From  Amory's  soul  rolled  a  burden  that  left 
him  treading  air  on  Mount  Khalak.  She  was 
not  Miss  Holland.  What  did  he  care  how  long 
St.  George  stayed  away? 

"  I  am  Tobias  Amory,"  he  said,  "  of  New 
York.  Most  people  don't  know  about  the  Sidon- 
ian  ghost  part.  But  I've  told  you  because  I 
thought,  perhaps,  you  might  be  the  Pitiful 
Princess." 

Antoinette's  heart  was  beating  pleasantly.  Of 
New  York!  How— oh,  how  did  he  get  here? 
Was  there,  then,  a  wishing-stone  in  that  window 
embrasure  where  she  had  been  sitting,  and  had 
the  knight  come  because  she  had  willed  it?  How 
much  did  he  know?  How  much  ought  she  to 
tell?  Nothing  whatever,  prudently  decided  the 
lawyer's   daughter. 

"I've  had,  I'm  almost  certain,  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  you  before,"  imparted  Amory  pleasantly, 
adjusting  his  pince-nez  and  looking  down  at  her. 
She  was  so  enchantingly  tiny  and  he  was  such 
a  giant. 

"  In  New  York?  "  demanded  Antoinette. 

"  No,"  said  Amory,  "  no.  Do  desert  island 
princesses  get  to  New  York  occasionally,  then? 
No,  I  think  I  saw  you  in  Yaque.  Yesterday. 
In  a  silver  automobile.     Did  I?  " 

Antoinette  dimpled. 


278  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  We  frightened  them  all  to  death,"  she  recalled. 
"  Did  we  frighten  you?  " 

*'  So  much,"  admitted  Amory,  "  that  I  took 
refuge  up  here." 

"  Where  were  you? "  Antoinette  asked  curi- 
ously. Really,  he  was  very  amusing — this  big 
courtly  creature.  How  agreeable  of  Olivia  to 
stay  away. 

"  Ah,  tell  me  how  you  got  here,"  she  impetu- 
ously begged.  "  Desert  island  people  don't  see 
people  from  New  York  every  day." 

"  Well  then,  O  Pitiful  Princess,"  said  the  Shade 
from  Sidon,  "  it  was  like  this — " 

It  was  easy  enough  to  fleet  the  time  carelessly, 
and  assuredly  that  high  moon-lit  world  was  meant 
to  be  no  less  merry  than  the  golden.  Whoever 
has  chanced  to  meet  a  delightful  companion  on 
some  silver  veranda  up  in  the  welkin  knows  this 
perfectly  well;  and  whoever  has  not  is  a  dull 
creature.  But  there  are  delightful  folk  who  are 
wont  to  suspect  the  dullest  of  harbouring  some 
sweet  secret,  some  sense  of  "  those  sights  which 
alone  (says  the  nameless  Greek)  make  life 
worth  enduring,"  and  ^this  was  akin  to  such  a 
sight. 

After  a  time,  at  Antoinette's  conscientious  sug- 
gestion, they  strolled  the  way  that  St.  George  had 
taken.  And  to  Olivia  and  the  missing  adventurer 
over  by  the  parapet  came  Amory 's  soft  query: 

"  St  George,  may  I  express  a  friendly  concern?" 


THE  ISLE  OF  HEARTS  279 

*'  Ah,  come  here,  Toby,"  commanded  St.  George 
happily,  "  her  Highness  and  I  have  been  dis- 
cussing matters  of  state." 

"Antoinette!"  cried  Olivia  in  amazement. 
From  time  immemorial  royalty  has  perpetually 
been  surprised  by  the  behaviour  of  its  ladies-in- 
waiting. 

"  I've  been  remembering  a  verse,"  said  Amory 
when  he  had  been  presented  to  Olivia,  "  may  I 
say  it  ?     It  goes : 

'"I'll  speak  a  story  to  you, 
Now  listen  while  I  try: 
I  met  a  Queen,  and  she  kept  house 
A-sitting  in  the  sky.'" 

"  Come  in  and  say  it  to  my  aunt,"  Olivia 
applauded.  "Aunt  Dora  is  dying  of  ennui  up 
here." 

They  crossed  the  terrace  in  the  hush  of  the 
tropic  night.  Through  the  fairy  black  and  silver 
the  four  figures  moved,  and  it  was  as  if  the  king's 
palace — ^that  sky  thing,  with  ramparts  of  air — 
had  at  length  found  expression  and  knew  a  way  to 
answer  the  ancient  glamourie  of  the  moon. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   VIGIIv 

Upon  Mrs.  Hastings  and  Mr.  Augustus  Froth- 
ingham,  drowsing  over  the  pocket  chess-board, 
the  sound  of  footsteps  and  men's  voices  in  the 
corridor  acted  with  electrical  effect.  Then  the 
door  was  opened  and  behind  Olivia  and  Antoinette 
appeared  the  two  visitors  who  seemed  to  have 
fallen  from  the  neighbouring  heavens.  The  two 
chess-pretenders  looked  up  aghast.  If  there  were 
a  place  in  the  world  where  chaperonage  might  be 
relaxed  the  uninformed  observer  would  say  that 
it  would  be  the  top  of  Mount  Khalak. 

"  Mercy  around  us ! "  cried  Mrs.  Medora  Hastings, 
*'  if  it  isn't  that  newspaper  man!  He's  probably 
come  over  here  to  cable  it  all  over  the  front  page 
of  every  paper  in  New  York.  Well,"  she  added 
complacently,  as  if  she  had  brought  it  all  about, 
"  it  seems  good  to  see  some  of  your  own  race. 
How  did  you  get  here?     Some  trick,  I  suppose?  " 

"  My  dear  fellows,"  burst  out  Mr.  Augustus 
Frothingham  fervently,  "thank  God!  I'm  not, 
ordinarily,  unequal  to  my  situations,  but  I  confess 

280 


A  VIGIL  281 

to  you,  as  I  would  not  to  a  client,  that  I  don't 
object  to  sharing  this  one.     How  did  you  come?" 

"  It's  a  house-party!  "  said  Antoinette  ecstati- 
cally. 

Amory  looked  at  her  in  her  blue  gown  in  the 
light  of  the  white  room,  and  his  spirits  soared 
heavenward.  Why  should  St.  George  have  an 
idea  that  he  controlled  the  hour? 

From  a  tumult  of  questioning,  none  of  which 
was  fully  answered  before  Mrs.  Hastings  put 
another  query,  the  lawyer  at  length  elicited  the 
substance  of  what  had  occurred. 

"  You  came  up  the  side  of  the  mountain, 
carried  by  four  of  those  frightful  natives?  " 
shrilled  Mrs.  Hastings.  "  Olivia,  think.  It's  a 
wonder  they  didn't  murder  you  first  and  throw 
you  over  afterward,  isn't  it,  Olivia?  Oh,  and  my 
poor  dear  brother.  To  think  of  his  lying  some- 
where all  mangled  and  bl " 

Emotion  overcame  Mrs.  Hastings.  Her  tor- 
toise-shell glasses  fell  to  her  lap  and  both  her 
side-combs  tinkled  melodiously  to  the  tiled  floor. 

"  This  reminds  m.e,"  said  Mr.  Frothingham, 
settling  back  and  finding  a  pencil  with  which  to 
emphasize  his  story,  "  this  reminds  me  very  much 
of  a  case  that  I  had  on  the  June  calendar " 

In  half  an  hour  St.  George  and  Amory  saw  that 
all  serious  consideration  of  their  situation  must 
be  accomplished  alone  with  Olivia ;  for  in  that  time 
Mr.    Frothingham   had   been   reminded   of    two 


282  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

more  cases  and  Mrs.  Hastings  had  twice  been 
reduced  to  tears  by  the  picture  of  tne  possible  fate 
of  her  brother.  Moreover,  there  presently 
appeared  supper — a  tray  of  the  most  savoury 
delicacies,  to  produce  which  Olivia  had  slipped 
away  and,  St.  George  had  no  doubt,  said  over 
some  spell  in  the  kitchens.  Supper  in  the  white 
marble  room  of  the  king's  palace  was  almost  as 
wonderful  as  muffins  and  tea  at  the  Boris. 

There  were  Olivia  in  her  gown  of  roses  on  one 
side  of  the  table  and  Antoinette  on  the  other 
and  between  them  the  hungry  and  happy  adven- 
turers. Across  the  room  under  a  tall  silver 
vase  that  might  have  been  the  one  proposed  by 
Achilles  at  the  funeral  games  for  Patroclus 
("  that  was  the  work  of  the  '  skilful  Sidonians  '  " 
St.  George  recalled  with  a  thrill),  Mrs.  Hastings 
and  Mr.  Frothingham  were  conscientiously  finish- 
ing their  chess,  since  the  lawyer  believed  in  com- 
pleting whatever  he  undertook,  if  for  nothing 
more  than  a  warning  never  to  undertake  it 
again.  Manifestly  the  little  ivory  kings  and 
queens  and  castles  were  in  league  with  all  the 
other  magic  of  the  night,  for  the  game  prolonged 
itself  unconscionably,  and  the  supper  party  found 
it  far  from  difficult  to  do  the  same.  St. 
George  looked  at  Olivia  in  her  gown  of  roses, 
and  his  eyes  swept  the  high  white  walls  of  the 
room  with  its  frescoes  and  inscriptions,  its  broken 
statues  and  defaced  chests  of  stone  and  ancient 


A  VIGIL  283 

armour,  and  so  back  to  Olivia  in  her  gown 
of  roses,  with  her  little  ringless  hands  touch- 
ing and  lifting  among  the  alien  dishes  as 
she  ministered  to  him.  What  a  dear  little  gown 
of  roses  and  what  beautiful  hands,  St.  George 
thought ;  and  as  for  the  broken  statues  and  the 
inscriptions  and  the  contents  of  the  stone  chests, 
nobody  had  paid  any  attention  to  them  for  so 
long  that  they  could  hardly  have  missed  his 
regard.  Nor  Amory's.  For  Amory  was  in  the 
midst  of  a  reminiscent  reference  to  the  Chiswicks, 
in  the  Adirondacks,  and  to  Antionette  Fro  thing- 
ham  in  a  launch. 

At  last  they  all  were  aware  that  the  chess-board 
was  being  closed  and  Mrs.  Hastings  had  risen. 

"  I  suppose,"  she  was  saying,  "  that  they  have 
an  idea  here,  the  poor  deluded  creatures,  that 
it  is  very  late.  But  I  tell  Olivia  that  we  are  so 
much  farther  east  it  can't  be  very  late  in  New 
York  at  this  minute,  and  I  intend  to  go  to  bed 
by  my  watch  as  I  always  do,  and  that  is  New 
York  time.  If  I  were  in  New  York  I  wouldn't 
be  sleepy  now,  and  I'm  no  different  here,  am  I? 
I  don't  think  people  are  half  independent  enough." 

Mrs.  Hastings  stepped  round  a  stone  god, 
almost  faceless,  that  stood  in  a  little  circular 
depression  in  the  floor. 

"  Olivia,  where,"  she  inquired,  patting  the 
bobbing,  ticking  jet  on  her  gown,  "  where  do 
you  think  that  frightful,  mad,  old  man  is?  " 


284  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  I  heard  him  cross  the  corridor  a  little  while 
ago,"  Olivia  answered.  "  I  think  he  went  to  his 
room." 

"  I  must  say,  Olivia,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings  with 
a  damp  sigh,  "  that  you  are  very  selfish  where  I 
am  concerned — in  this  matter." 

"  Ah,"  said  Olivia,  "  please,  Aunt  Dora.  He 
is  far  too  feeble  to  harm  any  one.  And  he's  away 
there  on  the  second  floor." 

"  I'm  sure  he's  a  murderer,"  protested  Mrs. 
Hastings.  "  He  has  the  murderer's  eye.  Mr. 
Hastings  would  have  said  he  has.  We  all  sleep 
on  the  ground  floor  here,"  she  continued  plain- 
tively, "  because  we  are  so  high  up  anyway  that 
I  think  the  air  must  be  just  as  pure  as  it  would 
be  up  stairs.  I  always  leave  my  window  up  the 
width  of  my  handkerchief -box." 

As  they  went  out  to  the  great  corridor  Olivia 
spoke  softly  to  St.  George. 

"  Look  up,"  she  said. 

He  looked,  and  saw  that  the  vast  circular 
chamber  was  of  incalculable  height,  extending 
up  to  the  very  dome  of  the  palace,  and  shaping 
itself  to  the  lines  of  the  topmost  of  the  three 
huge  cones.  It  was  a  great  well  of  light,  playing 
over  strange  frescoes  of  gods  and  daemons,  of 
constellations  and  of  beasts,  and  exquisite 
with  all  the  secret  colours  of  some  other  way 
of  vision.  As  high  as  the  eye  could  see,  the 
precious  metals  upon  the  skeleton  of  the   open 


A  VIGIL  285 

roof  shone  in  the  bright  light  that  was  set 
there  —  the  light  on  the  summit  of  the  king's 
palace. 

St.  George  turned  from  the  glory  of  it  and 
looked  into  her  eyes. 

"  '  A  new  Heaven  and  a  new  earth,'  "  he  said; 
but  he  did  not  mean  the  dome  of  light  nor  yet  the 
splendour  of  the  palace. 

Manifestly,  there  is  no  use  in  being  asleep 
when  one  can  dream  rather  better  awake.  St. 
George  wandered  aimlessly  between  his  room  and 
Amory's  and  took  the  time  to  reflect  that  when  a 
man  looks  the  way  Amory  did  he  might  as  well 
have  Cupids  painted  on  his  coat. 

"  St.  George,"  Amory  said  soberly,  "  is  this 
the  way  you've  been  feeling  all  the  way  here? 
Is  this  what  you  came  for?  Then,  on  my  soul, 
I  forgive  you  everything.  I  would  have  climbed 
ten  mountains  to  meet  Antoinette  Frothingham." 

"  I've  been  watching  you,  you  son  of  Dixie," 
said  St.  George  darkly;  "  don't  you  lose  your 
head  just  when  you  need  it  most." 

"  I  have  a  notion  yours  is  gone,"  defended 
Amory  critically,  "  and  mine  is  only  going." 

"  That's  twice  as  dangerous,"  St.  George  wisely 
opined;  "  besides — mine  is  different." 

"  So  is  mine,"  said  Amory,  "  so  is  everybody's." 

St.  George  stepped  through  the  long  window  to 
the  terrace.     Amory  didn't  care  whether  anybody 


286  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

listened;  he  simply  longed  to  talk,  and  St,  George 
had  things  to  think  about.  He  crossed  the  ter- 
race to  the  south,  and  went  back  to  the  very  spot 
where  he  and  Olivia  had  stood ;  and  there,  because 
the  night  would  have  it  no  other  way,  he  stretched 
along  the  broad  wall  among  the  vines,  and  lit  his 
pipe,  and  lay  looking  out  at  sea.  Here  he  was, 
liberated  from  the  business  of  "  buzzing  in  a 
comer,  trifling  with  monosyllables,"  set  upon  a 
field  pleasant  with  hazard  and  without  paths, 
to  move  in  the  primal  experiences  where  words 
themselves  are  born.  Better  and  more  intimate 
names  for  everything  seemed  now  almost  within 
his  ken. 

He  had  longed  unspeakably  to  go  pilgriming, 
and  he  had  forthwith  been  permitted  to  leave  the 
world  behind  with  its  thickets  and  thresholds,  its 
hesitations  and  confusions,  its  marching  armies, 
breakfasts,  friendships  and  the  like,  and  to  live 
on  the  edge  of  what  will  be.  He  thought  of  his 
mother,  in  her  black  gowns  and  Roman  mosaic 
pins  with  a  touch  of  yellow  lace  at  her  throat, 
listening  to  the  bishop  as  he  examined  the  dicta 
of  still  cloisters,  and  he  told  himself  that  he  knew 
a  heresy  or  two  that  were  like  belief.  His  mother 
and  the  bishop  at  Tubingen  and  on  the  Baltic! 
Curiously  enough,  they  did  not  seem  very 
remote.  He  adored  his  mother  and  the  bishop, 
and  so  the  thought  of  them  was  a  part  of  this 
fairy   tale.     All     pleasant    thoughts   whether   of 


A  VIGII.  287 

adventure  or  impression  boast  kinship,  perhaps 
have  identity.  And  the  name  of  that  identity 
was  Olivia.  So  he  "  drove  the  night  along  "  on 
the  leafy  parapet. 

He  was  not  far  from  asleep,  nor  perhaps  from  the 
dream  of  the  Roman  emperor  who  believed  the  sea 
to  have  come  to  his  bedside  and  spoken  with  him, 
when  something — he  was  not  sure  whether  it  was 
a  voice  or  a  touch — startled  him  awake.  He  rose 
on  his  elbow  and  looked  drowsily  out  at  the  glori- 
fied blackness — as  if  black  were  no  longer  absence 
of  colour  but,  the  veil  of  negative  definitions  having 
been  pierced,  were  found  to  be  a  mystic  union  of 
colour  and  more  inclusive  than  white.  The  very 
dark  seemed  delicately  vocal  and  to  "  fill  the  waste 
with  sound"  no  less  than  the  wash  of  the  waves. 
St.  George  awoke  deliciously  confused  by  a  return- 
ing sense  of  the  sweet  and  the  joy  of  the  night. 

"  'This  was  the  loneliest  beach  between  two 
seas,'  "  there  flitted  through  his  mind,  "  *  and 
strange  things  had  been  done  there  in  the  ancient 
ages.'  "  He  turned  among  the  vines,  half  listen- 
ing. "  And  in  there  is  the  king's  daughter,"  he 
told  himself,  "  and  this  is  certainly  *  the  strangest 
thing  that  ever  befell  between  two  seas.'  And  I 
have  a  great  mind  to  look  up  the  old  woman  of 
that  tale  who  must  certainly  be  hereabout, 
dancing  '  widdershins.'  " 

Then,  like  a  bright  blade  unsheathed  in  a  quiet 
chamber,  a  cry  of  great  and  unmistakable  fear 


288  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

rang  out  from  the  palace — a  woman's  cry,  uttered 
but  once,  and  giving  place  to  a  silence  that  was 
even  more  terrifying.  In  an  instant  St.  George 
was  on  his  feet,  running  with  all  his  might. 

"  Coming!  "  he  called,  "  where  are  you — where 
are  you?  "  And  his  heart  pounded  against  his 
side  with  the  certainty  that  the  voice  had  been 
Olivia's. 

It  was  unmistakably  Olivia's  voice  that  replied 
to  him. 

"  Here! "  she  cried  clearly,  and  St.  George 
followed  the  sound  and  dashed  through  the  long 
open  window  of  the  room  next  that  in  which  he 
had  first  seen  her  that  night. 

"  Here,"  she  repeated,  "  but  be  careful.  Some 
one  is  in  this  room." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  he  cried  cheerily  into  the 
dark.  "  It's  all  right,"  which  is  exactly  what  he 
would  have  said  if  there  had  been  about  dragons 
and  real  shades  from  Sidon. 

The  room  was  now  in  darkness,  and  in  the  dim 
light  cast  by  the  high  moon  he  could  at  first 
discern  nothing.  He  heard  a  silken  rustling  and 
the  tap  of  slippered  feet.  The  next  instant  the 
apartment  was  quick  with  light,  and  in  the 
curtained  entrance  to  an  inner  room,  Olivia,  in  a 
brown  dressing-gown,  her  hair  vaguely  bright 
about  her  flushed  face,  stood  confronting 
him. 

Between  them,  his  thin  hand  thrown  up,  palm 


A  VIGIL  289 

outward,  to  protect  his  eyes  from  the  sudden  light, 
was  the  old  man  whom  St.  George  had  last  seen  by 
the  shrine  on  the  terrace. 

St.  George  was  prepared  for  a  mere  procession 
of  palace  ghosts,  but  at  this  strange  visitor  he 
stared  for  an  uncomprehending  moment. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here?  "  he  said  wonder- 
ingly  to  him;  "  what  in  the  world  are  you  doing 
here?  " 

The  old  man  looked  uncertainly  about  him, 
one  hand  spread  against  the  pillar  behind  him, 
the  other  fumbling  at  his  throat. 

"  I  think,"  he  answered  almost  indist!nguish- 
ably,  *'  I  think  that  I  meant  to  sit  here — to  sit 
in  the  room  beyond,  where  the  mock  stars  shine." 

Olivia  uttered  an  exclamation. 

"  How  could  he  possibly  know  that?  "  she  said. 

"  But  what  does  he  mean?  "  asked  St.  George. 

She  crossed  swiftly  to  a  portiere  hanging  by 
slender  rings  from  the  full  height  of  the  lofty 
room,  and  at  her  bidding  St.  George  followed  her. 
She  pushed  aside  the  curtain,  revealing  a  huge 
cave  of  the  dark,  a  room  whose  walls  were  sunk 
in  shadow.  But  overhead  the  ceiling  was  con- 
stellated in  stars,  so  that  it  seemed  to  St.  George 
as  if  he  were  looking  into  a  nearer  heaven,  homing 
the  far  lights  that  he  knew.  The  Pleiades, 
Orion,  and  the  Southern  Cross,  blazing  down  with 
inconceivable  brilliance,  were  caught  and  held 
captive  in  the  cup  of  this  nearer  sky^ 


290  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"It  is  like  this  at  night,"  Olivia  said,  "  but 
we  see  nothing  in  the  daytime,  save  the  vague 
outlines  of  here  and  there  a  star.  But  how  could 
he  have  known?  There  is  no  other  door  save 
this." 

The  old  man  had  followed  them  and  stood, 
his  eyes  fixed  on  the  shining  points. 

"It  is  done  well,"  he  said  softly,  "  it  makes 
one  feel  the  firmament." 

St.  George,  thrilling  with  the  strangeness  of 
what  he  saw,  and  the  strangeness  of  being  there 
with  Olivia  and  this  weird  old  man  of  the  mountain, 
turned  toward  him  almost  fearfully.  How  did 
he  know,  indeed? 

"  Ah  well,"  he  said,  striving  to  reassure  her, 
"  I've  no  doubt  he  has  wandered  in  here 
some  evening,  while  you  were  at  dinner.  No 
doubt " 

He  stopped  abruptly,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
old  man's  hand.  For  as  he  lifted  it  St.  George 
had  thought  that  something  glittered.  Without 
hesitation  he  caught  the  old  man's  arm  about  the 
wrist,  and  turned  his  hand  in  his  own  palm. 
In  the  thin  fingers  he  found  a  small  sealed  tube, 
filled  with  something  that  looked  like  particles 
of  nickel. 

"  Do  you  mind  telling  me  what  that  is?  ** 
asked  St.  George. 

Old  Malakh's  eyes,  liquid  and  brown  and  very 
peaceful,  met  his  own  without  rebuke. 


A  VIGIL  291 

"  Do  you  mean  the  gem?  "  he  asked  gently. 
"  It  is  a  very  beautiful  ruby." 

Then  St.  George  saw  upon  the  hand  that  held 
the  sealed  tube  a  ring  of  matchless  workmanship, 
set  with  a  great  ruby  that  smouldered  in  the 
shadow  where  they  stood.  Olivia  looked  at 
St.  George  with  startled  eyes. 

"  He  was  not  wearing  this  when  we  first  saw 
him,"  she  said.  "  I  haven't  seen  him  wearing 
it  at  all." 

St.  George  confronted  the  old  man  then  and 
spoke  with  some  determination. 

"Will  you  please  tell  us,"  he  said,  "what 
there  is  in  this  tube,  and  how  you  came  by  this 
ring?  " 

Old  Malakh  looked  down  reflectively  at  his 
hand,  and  back  to  St.  George's  face.  It  was 
wonderful,  the  air  of  courtliness  and  urbanity 
and  delicate  breeding  which  persisted  through  age 
and  infirmity  and  the  fallow  mind. 

"  I  wish  that  I  might  tell  you,"  he  said  humbly, 
*'  but  I  have  only  little  lights  in  my  head,  instead 
of  words.  And  when  I  say  them,  they  do  not 
mean — what  they  shine.  Do  you  not  see?  That 
is  why  every  one  laughs.  But  I  know  what  the 
lights  say." 

St.  George  looked  at  Olivia  helplessly. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  where  his  room  is?  "he  said, 
"  and  I'll  go  back  with  him.  I  don't  know 
what  to  make  of  this,  quite,  but  don't  be  fright- 


292  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

ened.  It's  all  right.  Didn't  you  say  he  is  on 
the  second  floor?  " 

"  Yes,  but  don't  go  alone  with  him,'*  begged 
Olivia  suddenly,  "  let  me  call  some  of  the 
servants.     We  don't  know  what  he  may  do." 

St.  George  shook  his  head,  smiling  a  little  in 
sheer  boyish  delight  at  that  "  we."  "  We  "  is  a 
very  wonderful  word,  when  it  is  not  put  to 
unimportant  uses  by  kings,  editors  and  the 
like. 

"  I'd  rather  not,  thank  you,"  he  said.  "  I'll 
have  a  talk  with  him,  I  think." 

"  His  room  is  at  the  top  of  the  stair,  on  the 
left,"    said  Olivia  reluctantly,  "  but  I  wish " 

"  We  shall  get  on  all  right,"  St.  George  assured 
her,  "  and  don't  let  this  worry  you,  will  you? 
I  was  smoking  on  the  terrace.  I'll  be  therefor 
a  while  yet.  Good  night,"  he  said  from  the 
doorway. 

"  Good  night,"  said  Olivia.  "  Good  night — and, 
oh,  I  thank  you." 

St.  George's  expectation  of  having  a  talk  with 
the  old  man  was,  however,  unfounded.  Old 
Malakh  led  the  way  to  his  room — a  great  place 
of  carven  seats  and  a  frowning  bed-canopy 
and  high  windows,  and  doors  set  deep  in  stone; 
and  he  begged  St.  George  to  sit  down  and  per- 
mitted him  to  examine  the  sealed  tube  filled  with 
little  particles  that  looked  like  nickel,  and  spoke 
with    gentle     irrelevance    the    while.      At    the 


A  VIGIL  298 

last  St,  George  left  him,  feeling  as  if  he  were 
committing  not  so  much  an  indignity  as  a  social 
solecism  when  he  locked  the  door  upon  the  lonely 
creature,  using  for  the  purpose  a  key-like  imple- 
ment chained  to  the  lock  without  and  having  a 
ring  about  the  size  of  the  iron  crown  of  the 
Lombards. 

"  Good  night,"  old  Malakh  told  him  court- 
eously, "  good  night.  But  yet  all  nights  are 
good — save  the  night  of  the  heart." 

St.  George  went  back  to  the  terrace.  For 
hours  he  paced  the  paths  of  that  little  upper 
garden  or  lay  upon  the  wall  among  the  pungent 
vines.  But  now  he  forgot  the  iridescent  dark  and 
the  companion-sea  and  the  high  moon  and  the 
king's  palace,  for  it  was  not  these  that  made 
the  necromancy  of  the  night.  It  was  permitted 
him  to  watch  before  the  threshold  while  Olivia 
slept,  as  lovers  had  watched  in  the  youth  of  the 
world.  Whatever  the  morrow  held,  to-night  had 
been  added  to  yesternight.  Not  until  the  dawn 
of  that  morrow  whitened  the  sky  and  drew  from 
the  vapourous  plain  the  first  far  towers  of  Med, 
the  King's  City,  did  St.  George  say  good  night 
to  her  glimmering  windows. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GLAMOURIE 

There  is  a  certain  poster,  all  stars  and  poppies 
and  deep  grass ;  and  over  these  hangs  a  new  moon 
which  must  surely  have  been  ciit  by  fairy  scissors, 
for  it  looks  as  much  like  a  cake  or  a  cowslip  as  it 
looks  like  a  moon.  But  withal  it  sheds  a  light 
so  eery  and  strangely  silver  that  the  poster 
seems,  in  spite  of  the  poppies,  to  have  been 
painted  in  Spring- wind. 

"  Never,"  said  some  chance  visitors  vehemently, 
"  have  I  seen  such  a  moon  as  that!  " 

"  But  ah,  sir,  and  ah,  madame,"  was  the 
answer — it  is  not  recorded  whether  the  poster 
spoke  or  whether  some  one  spoke  for  it — "wouldn't 
you  like  to?  " 

Now,  therefore,  concerning  the  sweet  of  those 
hours  in  the  king's  palace  the  Vehement  may  be 
tempted  to  exclaim  that  in  life  things  never 
happen  like  that.  Ah — do  they  not  so  ?  You  have 
only  to  go  back  to  the  days  when  young  love  and 
young  life  were  yours  to  recall  distinctly  that  the 
most   impossible   things    were   every-day   occur- 

294 


GLAMOURIE  295 

rences.  What  about  the  time  that  you  went 
down  one  street  instead  of  up  another  and  that 
changed  the  entire  course  of  your  days  and 
brought  you  two  together?  What  about  the 
song,  the  June,  the  letter  that  touched  the  world 
to  gold  before  your  eyes  and  caught  you  up  in  a 
place  of  clouds?  Remembering  that  magic,  it  is 
quite  impossible  to  assert  that  any  charming 
thing  whatever  would  not  have  happened.  Is 
there  not  some  wonderland  in  every  life?  And  is 
not  the  ancient  citadel  of  Love-upon-the-Heights 
that  common  wonderland?  One  must  believe  in 
all  the  happiness  that  one  can. 

But  if  the  Most  Vehement — who  are  as  thick  as 
butterflies — still  remain  unconvinced  and  persist 
that  they  never  heard  of  things  fallen  out  thus, 
there  is  left  this  triumph : 

"Ah,  sir,  or  ah,  niadame,  wouldn't  you  like  to?" 

A  fugitive  wind  rollicking  in  from  sea  next 
morning  swept  through  the  palace  and  went  on 
around  the  world;  and  thereafter  it  had  an 
hundred  odourous  ways  of  attracting  attention, 
which  were  merely  its  own  tale  of  what  pleasant 
things  it  had  seen  and  heard  on  high. 

For  example,  that  breakfast.  A  cloth  had  been 
laid  at  one  end  of  the  long  stone  table  whereat, 
since  the  days  of  Abibaal,  brother  to  Hiram,  friend 
to  David,  kings  had  breakfasted  and  banqueted, 
and  this  cloth  had  now  been  set  with  the  ancient 


296  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

plate  of  the  palace — dishes  that  looked  like  helmets 
and  urns  and  discs.  Here  Olivia  and  Antoinette, 
in  charming  print  frocks,  made  a  kind  of  tea  in 
a  kind  of  biblical  samovar  and  served  it  in  vessels 
that  resembled  individual  trophies  of  the  course. 
And  here  St.  George  and  Amory  praised  the 
admirable  English  muffins  which  some  one  had 
taught  the  dubious  cook  to  make ;  and  Mr.  Augus- 
tus Frothingham  tip-fingered  his  way  about  his 
plate  among  alien  fruits  and  queer-shaped  cakes. 
"  Are  they  cookies  or  are  they  manna?  "  Amory 
wondered,  "  for  they  remind  me  of  coriander 
seeds."  And  here  Mrs.  Hastings,  who  always 
awoke  a  thought  impatient  and  became  ultra- 
complacent  with  no  interval  of  real  sanity,  wist- 
fully asked  for  a  soft-boiled  egg  and  added 
plaintively : 

"Though  I  dare  say  the  very  hens  in  Yaque 
lay  something  besides  eggs — pineapples,  very 
likely." 

"  I  suppose,"  speculated  Amory,  "  that  when 
we  get  perfectly  intuitionized  we  won't  have  to 
eat  either  one  because  we'll  know  beforehand 
exactly  how  they  both  taste." 

"A  reductio  ad  ahsurdum,  my  young  friend," 
said  the  lawyer  sternly;  "  the  real  purpose  of 
eating  will  remain  for  ever  unchanged." 

Later,  while  Mrs.  Hastings  and  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham went  out  on  the  terrace  in  the  sun  and 
wished  for  a  morning  paper   ("I  miss  the  weather 


GLAMOURIE  297 

report  so,"  complained  Mrs.  Hastings)  the  four 
young  people  with  Jar^o  and  Akko  for  guides  set 
out  to  explore  the  palace.  For  St.  George  had 
risen  from  his  two  hours'  sleep  with  some  clearly- 
defined  projects,  and  he  meant  first  to  go  over 
every  niche  and  corner  of  the  great  pile  where 
one — say  a  king — might  be  hidden  with  twenty 
other  kings,  and  no  one  be  at  all  the  wiser. 

What  a  morning  it  was!  When  the  rollicking 
wind  got  to  that  part  of  the  story  it  must  have 
told  about  it  in  such  intimating  perfumes  that 
even  the  unimaginative  were  constrained  to  sit 
idle,  "  thinking  delicate  thoughts."  There  never 
was  a  fairer  temple  of  romance,  a  very  temple  of 
Young  Love's  Plaisaunce;  and  since  the  coming 
of  St.  George  and  Amory  all  the  cavernous 
chambers  and  galleries  were  become  homes  of 
hope  that  the  king  would  be  found  and  all  would 
yet  be  well. 

To  the  main  part  of  the  palace  there  were  storey 
after  storey,  all  octagons  and  pentagons  and 
labyrinths,  so  that  incredulity  and  amazement 
might  increase  with  every  step.  How  they  had 
ever  raised  those  massive  blocks  of  stone  to  that 
great  height  no  one  can  guess  unless,  indeed, 
Amory 's  theory  were  correct  and  the  palace  had 
originally  been  built  upon  level  ground  and  had 
had  its  surroundings  blasted  neatly  away  to  make  a 
mountain.  At  all  events  there  were  the  walls  of  the 
great  airy  rooms  made  of  the  naked  stone,  exqui- 


298  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

sitely  beveled  and  chiseled,  and  frescoed  with  the 
planetary  deities — Kloti,  the  Moon  with  her 
chariot  drawn  by  white  bulls,  the  Sun  and  his  four 
horses,  with  his  emblem  of  a  column  in  the  form 
of  a  rising  flame — types  taken  from  the  heavens 
and  from  the  abyss.  There  were  roofs  of  sound 
fir  and  sweet  cedar,  carven  cornices,  cave-like 
window  embrasures  with  no  glass,  and  little  cir- 
cular rooms  built  about  shrines  in  which  sat 
broken  images  of  Baal  the  sun  god,  of  a  sandaled 
Astarte,  and  a  ravening  Melkarth,  with  the  lion's 
skin. 

From  a  great  upper  corridor  there  went  a 
stairway,  each  deep  step  of  which  was  placed 
on  the  back  of  a  stone  lion  of  increasing  size, 
until  the  tallest  lion's  head  extended  close  to 
the  painted  ceiling,  and  there  were  comfortable 
benches  cut  in  his  gigantic  paws.  Many  of  the 
rooms  were  without  furnishing,  some  were  filled 
with  vague,  splendid  stuff  mouldering  away,  and 
others  with  most  luxuriously-devised  ministries  to 
beauty  and  comfort.  The  palace  was  curiously 
and  wonderfully  an  habitation  of  more  than  two 
thousand  years  ago,  furnished  with  a  taste  and 
luxury  in  advance  of  this  moment's  civilization 
of  the  world.  The  heart  of  that  elder  world 
beat  strangely  in  one  of  the  upper  chambers 
where  they  came  upon  a  little  work-shop,  strewn 
with  unknown  metals  and  tools  and  empty  cru- 
cibles, and  in  their  midst  a  rectangular  metallic 


GLAMOURIE  299 

plate  partly  traced  with  a  device  of  boughs,  appear- 
ing, in  one  light,  slightly  fluorescent. 

"  It  is  the  work  of  the  Princess  Simyra,  ad6n," 
said  Jarvo.  "  She  was  the  daughter  of  King 
Thabion,  and  when  she  died  what  she  had  touched 
in  this  room  was  left  unmoved.  But  it  was  very 
many  years  ago — I  have  forgotten.  Every  one 
has  forgotten." 

They  went  down  among  the  very  roots 
of  the  palace,  three  full  storeys  below  the  surface 
of  the  summit.  Jarvo  went  before,  lighting  the 
way,  and  they  threaded  vaulted  corridors  and 
winding  passages,  and  emerged  at  last  in  a  silent, 
haunted  chamber  whose  stones  had  been  hewn 
and  sunken  there,  before  Issus.  This  was  the 
chamber  of  the  tombs  of  the  kings,  and  its  floor 
echoed  to  their  footsteps,  now  hollowly,  now  with 
ringing  clearness.  Three  sides  of  the  mighty  hall 
were  lined  with  loculi  or  niches,  each  as  deep  as 
the  length  of  a  man.  About  the  floor  stood  stone 
sarcophagi  and  beneath  the  long  flags  kings  were 
sleeping,  each  with  his  abandoned  name  graven 
on  the  stones,  washed  year-long  by  the  dark.  In 
the  room's  centre  was  a  lofty  cylindrical  tomb, 
mounted  by  four  steps,  and  this  was  the  resting- 
place  of  King  Abibaal,  the  younger  son  of  King 
Abibaal  of  Tyre,  and  the  brother  to  King  Hiram, 
who  ruled  in  Tyre  when  the  Phoenicians  who 
settled  Yaque,  or  Arqua,  first  passed  the  Straits 
of  Gibraltar  and  gained  the  open  sea.     ("  Dear 


300  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

me,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings  when  they  told  her, 
"  I  was  at  Mount  Vernon  once,  and  the  Wash- 
ingtons'  tombs  there  impressed  me  very  deeply, 
but  they  were  nothing  to  these  in  point  of  age, 
were  they?  ")  Sunken  in  the  wall  was  a  tomb 
of  white  marble  hewn  in  a  five-faced  pyramidion, 
where  slept  Queen  Mitygen,  who  ruled  in  Yaque 
while  Alexander  was  king  of  Persia.  There  was 
said  to  have  been  buried  with  her  a  casket  of 
love-letters  from  Alexander,  who  may  have  known 
Yaque  and  probably  at  one  time  visited  it  and, 
in  that  case,  was  entertained  in  the  very  palace. 
And  if  this  is  true  the  story  of  his  omission  to 
conquer  the  island  may  one  day  divert  the 
v/orld. 

Jarvo  bent  before  a  low  tomb  whose  stone  was 
delicately  scored  with  winged  circles. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  said,  "  you  will  recall  the 
accounts  of  the  kidnapped  Egyptian  priestesses 
sold  to  the  Theoprotions  by  Phoenician  mer- 
chants in  tlie  heroic  age  of  Greece?  They  were 
not  all  sold.  Here  lie  the  bones  of  four,  given 
royal  burial  because  of  their  holy  office." 

Nothing  was  unbelievable — nothing  had  been 
unbelievable  for  so  long  that  these  four  had 
almost  learned  that  everything  is  possible.  Which, 
if  you  come  to  think  of  it,  and  no  matter  how 
absurdly  you  learn  it,  is  a  thing  immeasurably 
worth  realizing  in  this  world  of  possibilities.  It 
is  one  of  our  two  magics. 


GLAMOURIK  301 

"  And  this,"  Jarvo  said  softly,  pausing  before 
a  vacant  niche  opposite  the  tomb  of  King  Abibaal , 
"  this  will  be  the  receptacle  for  the  present  king 
of  Yaque,  his  Majesty,  King  Otho,  by  the  grace 
of  God." 

Olivia  suddenly  looked  up  at  St.  George,  her 
face  pale  in  the  ghostly  light.  There  it  had  been, 
waiting  for  them  all  the  while,  the  sense  of  the 
vivid  personal  against  the  vague  eternal.  But 
her  involuntary  appeal  to  him,  slight  as  it  was, 
thrilled  St.  George  with  tenderness  as  vivid  as 
this  tragic  element  itself. 

They  went  back  to  the  sun  and  the  sweet 
messengering  air  above,  and  crossed  a  little 
vacant  grassy  court  on  the  north  side  of  the 
mountain.  Here  they  saw  that  the  palace  climbed 
down  the  northern  slope  from  the  summit,  and 
literally  overhung  the  precipice  where  the  sup- 
ports were  made  fast  by  gigantic  girders  run 
in  the  living  rock.  A  little  observatory  was 
built  below  the  edge  of  the  mountain,  and  this 
box  of  a  place  had  a  glass  floor,  and  one  felt  like 
a  fly  on  the  sky  as  one  stood  there.  It  was  said 
that  a  certain  king  of  Yaque,  sometime  in  the 
course  of  the  Punic  Wars,  had  thrown  himself 
from  this  observatory  in  a  rage  because  his  court 
electrician  had  died,  but  how  true  this  may  be 
it  is  impossible  to  say  because  so  little  is  known 
about  electricity.  Below  the  building  lay  quite 
the  most  wonderful  part  of  the  king's  palace. 


302  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Here  in  the  long  north  rooms,  hermetically 
quiet,  was  the  heart  of  the  treasure  of  the  ancient 
island.  Here,  saved  inexplicably  from  the  wreck 
of  the  past,  were  a  thousand  testimonies  to  that 
lost  and  but  half-guessed  art  of  the  elder  world. 
Beautiful  things,  made  in  the  days  when  King 
Solomon  built  the  Temple  at  Jerusalem,  lined  the 
walls,  and  filled  the  stone  shelves,  together  with 
curios  of  that  later  day  when  Phoenicia  stood 
first  in  knowledge  of  the  plastic  and  glyptic  arts. 
Workers  in  gold  and  ivory,  in  gems  and  talismans, 
in  brass  and  fine  linen  and  purple  had  done 
the  marvels  which  those  courtier  adventurers 
brought  with  them  over  the  sea,  and  to  these, 
from  year  to  year,  had  been  added  the  treasure 
of  private  chests — necklaces  and  coronals  and 
hair-loops,  bottles  and  vases  of  glass  coloured 
with  metallic  oxides,  and  patterned  aggry-beads, 
now  sometimes  found  in  ancient  tombs  on  the 
Ashantee  coasts.  Beneath  an  altar  set  with  cen- 
sers and  basins  of  gold  was  a  chest  brought  from 
Amathus,  its  ogive  lid  carved  with  bigce  or  two- 
horsed  chariots,  and  it  was  in  this  chest,  Jarvo 
told  them,  that  the  Hereditary  Treasure  had  been 
kept.  The  chamber  walls  were  covered  with 
bas-reliefs  in  the  ill -proportioned  and  careful 
carving  of  the  Phoenician  artists  not  yet  under 
Greek  influence,  and  all  about  were  set  the  wonder- 
ful bronzes,  such  as  Tyrian  artificers  made  for  the 
Temple.     The   other   chambers  gave  still  deeper 


GLAMOURIK  303 

utterance  to  days  remote,  for  it  was  there  that  the 
king's  library  had  been  collected  in  case  after 
case,  filled  with  parchment  rolls  preserved  and 
copied  from  age  to  age.  What  might  not  be 
there,  they  wondered — annals,  State  documents, 
the  Phcenician  originals  of  histories  preserved 
elsewhere  only  in  fragments  of  translation  or 
utterly  lost,  the  secrets  of  science  and  magic 
known  to  men  the  very  forms  of  whose  names 
have  perished ;  and  not  only  the  longed-for  poems 
of  Sido  and  Jopas,  but  of  who  could  tell  how 
many  singing  hearts,  lyric  with  joy  and  love  and 
still  voiceful  here  in  these  strange  halls?  These 
were  chambers  such  as  no  one  has  ever  entered, 
for  this  was  the  vexing  of  no  unviolated  tomb 
and  no  buried  city,  but  the  actual  return  to  the 
Past,  watching  lonely  on  the  mountain. 

"  Clusium,"  said  Amory  softly.  "  I  had  actually 
wanted  to  go  to  the  cemetery  at  Clusium,  to  see 
some  inscriptions!  " 

"  No,  you  didn't,  Toby,"  said  St.  George  pleas- 
antly, "  you  wanted  to  go  somewhere  and  you 
called  it  Clusium.  You  wanted  an  adventure  and 
you  thought  Clusium  was  the  name  of  it." 

"  I  know,"  said  Amory  shamelessly,  "  and  there 
are  no  end  of  names  for  it.  But  it's  always  the 
same  thing      Excepting  this.'' 

"  Excepting  this,"  St.  George  repeated  fervently 
as  they  turned  to  go;  and  if,  in  singing  of  that 
morning,  the  rollicking  wind  sang  that,  it  must 


304  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

have  breathed  and  trembled  with  a  chorus  of 
faint  voices  from  every  shelf  in  the  room, — ^voices 
that  of  old  had  thrilled  with  the  same  meaning 
and  woke  now  to  the  eternal  echo. 

Woke  now  to  the  eternal  echo — an  echo  that 
touched  delicately  through  the  events  of  that 
afternoon  and  laid  strange  values  on  all  that 
happened.  Otherwise,  if  they  four  were  not  all 
a  little  echo-mad,  how  was  it  that  in  the  shadow 
of  doubt,  in  the  face  of  danger,  and  near  the 
inextinguishable  mystery  they  yet  found  time  for 
the  little,  wing-like  moments  that  never  hold  his- 
tory, because  they  hold  revelation.  There  were, 
too,  some  events;  but  an  event  is  a  clumsy  thing 
at  best,  unless  it  has  something  intangible  about 
it.  The  delicious  moments  are  when  the 
intangibilities  prevail  and  pervade  and  possess. 
In  the  king's  palace  there  must  have  been  shrines 
to  intangibilities — as  there  should  be  everywhere — 
for  they  seemed  to  come  there,  and  belong. 

The  mere  happenings  included,  for  example, 
a  talk  that  St,  George  had  with  Mr.  Augustus 
Frothingham  on  the  terrace  after  luncheon,  in 
which  St.  George  laid  before  the  lawyer  a  plan 
which  he  had  virtually  matured  and  of  which  he 
himself  thought  very  well.  Thought  so  well, 
because  of  its  possibilities,  that  his  face  was 
betrayingly  eager  as  he  told  about  it.  It  was, 
briefly,  that  inasmuch  as  four  of  the  six  men  who 
could  scale  the  mountain  were  now  on  its  summit, 


GLAMOURIE  305 

and  inasmucli  as  all  the  airships  were  there  also, 
now,  therefore,  they,  the  guests  on  the  island 
of  Yaque,  were  in  a  perfectly  impregnable  position 
— counting  out  Fifth  Dimension  contingencies, 
which  of  course  might  include  appearings  as  well 
as  disappearings— and  why  shouldn't  they  stay 
there,  and  let  the  ominous  noon  of  the  following 
day  slip  by  unmarked?  And  when  the  lawyer 
said,  "  But,  my  dear  fellow,"  as  he  was  bound  to 
say,  St.  George  answered  that  down  there  in  Med 
there  would  be,  by  noon  of  the  following  day,  two 
determined  persons  who,  if  Jarvo  would  get  word 
to  them,  would  with  perfect  certainty  find  Mr. 
Otho  Holland,  the  king,  if  he  were  on  the  island. 
And  when  "  Well,  but  my  dear  fellow  "  occurred 
again,  St.  George  replied  with  deference  that  he 
knew  it,  but  although  he  never  had  managed  an 
airship  he  fancied  that  perhaps  he  might  help 
with  one;  and  down  there  in  the  harbour  was  a 
yacht  waiting  to  sail  for  New  York,  and  therefore 
no  one  need  even  set  foot  on  the  island  who  didn't 
wish.  And  Mr.  Frothingham  laid  one  long  hand 
on  each  coat-lapel  and  threw  back  his  head  until 
his  hair  rested  on  his  collar,  and  he  looked  at  the 
palace— that  Titan  thing  of  the  sky  with  ramparts 
of  air— and  said,  "  Nothing  in  all  my  experi- 
ence  "  and  St.  George  left  him,  deep  in  thought. 

On  the  way  back  he  chanced  upon  Mrs.  Hast- 
ings, seated  on  a  bench  of  lapidescent  wood  in  the 
portico — and  a  Titanic  portico  it  looked  by  day — 


306  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and,  having  sent  for  the  palace  chef,  she  was 
attempting  to  write  down  the  recipe  for  the  salad 
of  that  day's  luncheon,  although  it  was  composed 
chiefly  of  fowls  now  extinct  everywhere  except- 
ing in  Yaque. 

"  But  my  poultry  man  will  get  them  for  me," 
she  urged  with  determination  ;  "  I  have  only  to 
tell  him  the  name  of  what  I  want,  and  he  can 
always  produce  it  in  tins,  nicely  labeled." 

Later,  St.  George  came  upon  old  Malakh, 
leaning  on  the  terrace  wall,  looking  out  to  sea 
and  stood  close  beside  him,  marveling  at  the  pallor 
and  the  thousand  wrinkles  of  the  man's  strange 
face.  The  face  was  stranger  by  day  than  it  had 
been  by  night — ^this  St.  George  had  felt  when  he 
went  that  morning  to  release  him,  and  the  old 
man  leaned  from  the  frowning  bed-hangings 
to  bid  him  a  gentle  good  morning.  Could  he  be, 
St.  George  now  wondered  vaguely,  a  citizen  of  the 
fifteenth  or  twentieth  dimension,  and,  there,  did 
they  live  to  his  incredible  age?  Then  he  noticed 
that  the  old  man  was  not  wearing  the  ruby  ring. 

"  I  wear  it  only  when  I  wish  to  see  it  shine,  sir," 
old  Malakh  answered,  and  St.  George  marveled 
at  that  courteous  "  sir,"  and  at  other  things. 

To  everything  that  he  asked  him  the  old  man 
returned  only  his  urbane,  unmeaning  replies, 
touched  with  their  melancholy  symbolism.  When 
St.  George  left  him  it  was  in  the  hope  that  Olivia 
would  consent  to  have  him  sent  down  the  moun- 


GLAMOURIE  307 

tain,  although  St.  George  himself  was  half  inclined 
to  agree  with  Amory's  "  But,  really,  I  would  far 
rather  talk  with  one  madman  with  this  madman's 
manners  than  to  sup  with  uncouth  sanity ' '  and 
"  After  all,  if  he  should  murder  us,  probably  no  one 
could  do  it  with  greater  delicacy."  And  Olivia 
had  no  intention  of  sending  old  Malakh  back 
to  Med.  "  How  could  one  possibly  do  that?" 
she  wanted  to  know,  and  there  was  no  oracle. 

All  the  while  the  world  of  intangibilities 
was  growing,  growing  as  only  that  world  can  grow 
from  the  abysmal  silence  of  life  that  went 
before.  St.  George  was  saying  to  himself  that  at 
last  the  Here  and  the  Now  were  infinitely  desirable ; 
and  as  for  the  fear  for  the  morrow,  what  was 
that  beside  the  promise  of  the  days  beyond? 
At  noon  they  all  climbed  the  Obelisk  Tower 
with  its  ceiling  of  carved  leaves  above  carved 
leaves,  and  the  real  heavens  a  little  farther  up. 
They  leaned  on  the  broad  wall,  cut  by  mock 
bastions  and  faced  the  glory  of  the  sunny,  tremb- 
ling sea,  starred  with  the  dipping  wings  of  gulls. 
Blue  sky,  blue  sea,  eyes  that  saw  looks  that  eyes 
did  not  know  they  gave — ah,  what  a  day  it  was  I 
When  the  rollicking  wind  told  about  that,  down 
on  the  dun  earth,  surely  it  echoed  their  young 
courage,  their  young  belief  in  the  futiu'e,  the 
incorruptibility  of  their  understanding  that  the 
future  was  theirs,  under  the  law.  For  the  wind 
always  teaches  that.     The  wind  is  the  supreme 


308  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

believer,  and  one  has  only  to  take  a  walk  in  it  at 
this  moment  to  know  the  truth.  Yet  in  spite  of 
the  wind,  in  spite  of  their  high  security,  in  spite  of 
the  little  wing-like  moments  that  hold  not  history 
but  revelation,  they  were  aU  going  down  the 
hours  beneath  the  pendent  sword  of  "  To-morrow, 
at  noon." 


CHAPTER  XVII 

BENEATH  THE  SUREACE 

Up  came  the  dusk  to  the  doors  of  the 
king's  palace— a  hurry  of  grey  banners  flowing 
into  the  empty  ways  where  the  sun  had 
been.  Upon  this  high  dominion  Night  could 
not  advance  unheralded,  and  here  the  Twi- 
light messengered  her  coming  long  after  the  dark 
lay    thick   on   the  lowland   and   on  the   toiling 

water. 

St.  George,  leaning  from  Amory's  window, 
looked  down  on  the  shadows  rising  in  exquisite 
hesitation,  as  if  they  came  curling  from  the 
lighted  censer  of  Med.  There  is  no  doubt  at  all, 
Olivia  had  said  gravely,  that  the  dusk  is  patterned, 
if  only  one  could  see  it— figured  in  unearthly 
flowers,  in  wandering  stars,  in  upper-air  sprites, 
grey-winged,  grey-bodied,  so  that  sometimes 
glimpsing  them  one  fancies  them  to  be  little 
living  goblins.  He  smiled,  remembering  her  words, 
and  glanced  over  his  shoulder  down  the  long  room 
where  the  other  light  was  now  beginning  to  creep 
about,  first  expressing,  then  embracing  the  cham- 

309 


310  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

ber  dusk.  It  seemed  precisely  the  moment  when 
something  delicate  should  be  caught  passing  from 
gloom  to  radiance,  to  be  thankfully  remembered. 
But  only  many- winged  colours  were  visible, 
though  he  could  hear  a  sound  like  little  murmurous 
speech  in  the  dusky  roof  where  the  air  had  a 
recurrent  fashion  of  whispering  knowingly. 

Indeed,  the  air  everywhere  in  the  palace  had 
a  fashion  of  whispering  knowingly,  for  it  was  a 
place  of  ghostly  draughts  and  blasts  creeping 
through  chambers  cleft  by  yawning  courts  and 
open  corridors  and  topped  by  that  skeleton  dome. 
And  as  St.  George  turned  from  the  window  he 
saw  that  the  door  leading  into  the  hall,  urged 
by  some  nimble  gust,  imaginative  or  prying, 
had  swung  ajar. 

St.  George  mechanically  crossed  the  room  to 
close  the  door,  noting  how  the  pale  light  warmed 
the  stones  of  that  cave-like  corridor.  With  his 
hand  upon  the  latch  his  eyes  fell  on  something 
crossing  the  corridor,  like  a  shadow  dissolving 
from  gloom  to  gloom.  Well  beyond  the  open 
door,  stealing  from  pillar  to  pillar  in  the  dimness 
and  moving  with  that  swiftness  and  slyness  which 
proclaim  a  covert  purpose  as  effectually  as  would 
a  bell,  he  saw  old  Malakh. 

Now  St.  George  was  in  felt-soled  slippers  and 
he  was  coatless,  because  in  the  adjoining  room 
Jarvo,  with  a  heated,  helmet-like  apparatus,  was 
attempting   to   press   his   blue    serge    coat.      In 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  311 

that  room  too  was  Amory,  catching  glimpses  of 
himself  in  a  mirror  of  polished  steel,  but  within 
reach,  on  the  divan  where  Jarvo  had  just  laid 
it,  was  Amory 's  coat;  and  St.  George  caught  that 
up,  slipped  it  on,  and  was  off  down  the  corridor 
after  the  old  man,  moving  as  swiftly  and  slyly 
as  he.  St.  George  had  no  great  faith  in  him  or 
in  what  he  might  know,  but  the  old  man  puzzled 
him,  and  mystification  is  the  smell  of  a  pleasant 
powder. 

The  palace  was  very  still.  Presumably,  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  Mr.  Frothingham  were  already  at 
chess  in  the  drawing-room  awaiting  dinner.  St. 
George  heard  a  snatch  of  distant  laughter,  in 
quick  little  lilts  like  a  song,  and  it  occurred  to 
him  that  its  echo  there  was  as  if  one  were  to  pin 
a  ruffle  of  lace  to  the  grim  stones.  Some  one 
answered  the  laugh,  and  he  heard  the  murmiu-ous 
touching  of  soft  skirts  entering  the  corridor  as 
he  dived  down  the  ancient  dark  of  one  of  the 
musty  passages.  There  the  silence  was  resumed. 
In  the  palace  it  was  as  though  the  stillness  were 
some  living  sleeper,  waking  with  protests,  thank- 
ful for  the  death  of  any  echo. 

No  one  was  in  the  gallery.  St.  George,  step- 
ping softly,  followed  as  near  as  he  dared  to  that 
hurrying  figure,  flitting  down  the  dark.  A  still 
narrower  hallway  connected  the  main  portion  of 
the  palace  with  a  shoulder  of  the  south  wing,  and 
into  this  the  old  man  turned  and  skirted  familiarly 


312  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  narrow  sunken  pool  that  ran  the  length  of 
the  floor,  drawing  the  light  to  its  glassy  surface 
and  revealing  the  shadows  sent  clustering  to  the 
indistinguishable  roof. 

Midway  the  gallery  sprang  a  narrow  stairway, 
let  in  the  wall  and  once  leading  to  the  ancient 
armoury,  but  now  disused  and  piled  with  rubbish. 
Old  Malakh  went  up  two  steps  of  this  old  stair- 
way, turned  aside,  and  slipped  away  so  swiftly 
that  his  amazed  pursuer  caught  no  more  than 
an  after-flutter  of  his  dun-coloured  garments. 
St.  George,  his  softly-clad  feet  making  no  noise 
upon  the  stones,  bounded  forward  and  saw, 
through  a  triangular  aperture  in  the  stones,  and 
set  so  low  that  a  man  must  crouch  upon  the 
step  to  enter,  a  yawning  place  of  darkness. 

He  might  very  well  have  been  taking  his  life 
in  his  hands,  for  he  could  have  no  idea  whether 
the  aperture  led  to  the  imperial  dungeons  or 
to  the  imperial  rain-water  cistern;  but  St.  George 
instantly  bent  and  slipped  down  into  that  dark- 
ness, thick  with  the  dust  of  the  flight  of  the  old 
man.  With  the  distinctly  pleasurable  sensation  of 
being  still  alive  he  found  himself  standing  upright 
upon  an  uneven  floor  of  masonry.  He  thrust 
out  his  arms  and  touched  sides  of  mossy  rock. 
Then  just  before  him  a  pale  flame  flickered.  The 
old  man  had  kindled  a  little  taper  that  hardly 
did  more  than  make  shallow  hollows  in  the 
darkness  through  which  he  moved. 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  313 

It  was  easy  to  follow  now,  and  St.  George  went 
(breathlessly  on  past  the  rudely-hewn  walls  and 
giant  pillars  of  that  hidden  way.  He  might  have 
been  lost  with  ease  in  any  of  the  lower  processes 
of  the  palace  which  they  had  that  morning  visited ; 
but  he  could  not  be  deceived  about  the  chambers 
which  he  had  once  seen,  and  this  subterranean 
course  was  new  to  him.  Was  it,  he  wondered, 
new  to  Olivia,  and  to  Jarvo?  Else  why  had  it 
been  omitted  in  that  morning's  search?  And 
was  this  strange  guide  going  on  at  random,  or 
did  he  know — something?  A  suspicion  leaped  to 
St.  George's  mind  that  made  his  heart  beat. 
The  king — might  he  be  down  here  after  all,  and 
might  this  weird  old  man  know  where  ?  His 
own  consciousness  became  chiefly  conjecture,  and 
every  nerve  was  alert  in  the  pursuit;  not  the  less 
because  he  realized  that  if  he  were  to  lose  this 
strange  conductor  who  went  on  before,  either  in 
secure  knowledge  or  in  utter  madness,  he  him- 
self might  wander  for  the  rest  of  his  life  in  that 
nether  world. 

Past  grim  latchless  doors  sealing,  with  appro- 
priate gestures,  their  forgotten  secrets,  past  out- 
lying passages  winding  into  the  heart  of  the 
mountain,  past  niches  filled  with  shapeless  crumb- 
ling rubbish  they  hurried — ^the  mad  old  man  and 
his  bewildered  pursuer.  Twice  the  way  turned, 
gradually  narrowing  until  two  could  hardly  have 
passed  there,  and  at  last  apparently  terminated  in 


314  ROMANCE  ISLAND  ' 

a  short  flight  of  steps.  Old  Malakh  mounted  with 
difficulty  and  St.  George,  waiting,  saw  him  stand- 
ing before  a  blank  stone  wall.  Immediately  and 
without  effort  the  old  man's  scanty  strength 
served  to  displace  one  of  the  wall's  huge  stones 
which  hung  upon  a  secret  pivot  and  rolled  noise- 
lessly within.  He  stepped  through  the  aperture, 
and  St.  George  sprang  behind  him,  watched  his 
moment  to  cross  the  threshold,  crouched  in  the 
leaping  shadow  of  the  displaced  stone  and  looked 
■ — looked  with  the  undistinguishing  amazement 
that  a  man  feels  in  the  panorama  of  his  dreams. 
The  room  was  small  and  low  and  set  with  a 
circular  bench,  running  about  a  central  pillar. 
On  the  table  was  a  confusion  of  things  brilliantly 
phosphorescent,  emitting  soft  light,  and  mingled 
with  bulbs,  coils  and  crucibles  lying  in  a  litter  of 
egg-shells,  feathers,  ivorj^  and  paper.  But  it  was 
not  these  that  held  St.  George  incredulous;  it 
was  the  fire  that  glowed  in  their  midst — a  fire 
that  leaped  and  trembled  and  blazed  inextin- 
guishable colour,  smouldering,  sparkling,  tossing 
up  a  spray  of  strange  light,  lambent  with  those 
wizard  hues  of  the  pennons  and  streamers  float- 
ing joyously  from  the  dome  of  the  Palace  of  the 
Litany — the  fire  from  the  subject  hearts  of  a 
thousand  jewels.  There  could  be  no  doubting 
what  he  saw.  There,  flung  on  the  table  from  the 
mouth  of  a  carven  casket  and  harbouring  the 
captive  light   of   ages   gone,   glittered   what   St. 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  815 

George  knew  would  be  the  gems  of  the  Heredi- 
tary Treasure  of  the  kings  of  Yaque. 

But  for  old  Malakh  to  know  where  the  jewels 
were — that  was  as  amazing  as  was  their  discovery. 
St.  George,  breathing  hard  in  his  comer,  watched 
the  long,  fine  hands  of  the  old  man  trembling 
among  the  delicate  tubes  and  spindles,  lingering 
lovingly  among  the  stones,  touching  among  the 
necklaces  and  coronals  of  the  dead  queens  whose 
dust  lay  not  far  away.  It  was  as  if  he  were  sum- 
moning and  discarding  something  shining  and 
imponderable,  like  words.  The  contents  of  the 
casket  which  all  Yaque  had  mourned  lay  scat- 
tered in  this  secret  place  of  which  only  this  strange, 
mad  creature,  a  chance  pensioner  at  the  palace, 
had  knowledge. 

Suddenly  the  memory  of  Balator's  words  smote 
St.  George  with  new  perception.  "  He  walks 
the  streets  of  Med,"  Balator  had  told  him  at  the 
banquet,  "  saying  '  Melek,  Melek,'  which  is  to  say 
'  king,'  and  so  he  is  seeking  the  king.  But  he  is 
mad,  and  he  weeps;  and  therefore  they  pretend 
to  believe  that  he  says,  '  Malakh,'  which  is  to  say 
'  salt,'  and  they  call  him  that,  for  his  tears." 

Could  old  Malakh  possibly  know  something  of 
the  king?  The  hope  returned  to  St.  George 
insistently,  and  he  watched,  spending  his  thought 
in  new  and  extravagant  conjecture,  his  mental 
vision  blurring  the  details  of  that  heaped-up, 
glistening  confusion;  and  on  the  opposite  side  of 


316  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  table  the  old  man  lifted  and  laid  down  that 
rainbow  stuff  of  dreams,  delighting  in  it,  speaking 
softly  above  it.  Had  he  been  the  king's  friend, 
St.  George  was  asking — but  why  did  no  one  know 
anjdihing  of  him?  Or  had  he  been  an  enemy  who 
had  done  the  king  violence — ^but  how  was  that 
possible,  in  his  age  and  feebleness?  Mystifying 
as  the  matter  was,  St.  George  exulted  as  much 
as  he  marv^eled;  for  it  would  be  his,  at  all  events, 
to  place  the  jewels  in  Olivia's  hands  and  clear 
her  father's  name;  he  longed  to  step  out  of  the 
dark  and  confront  the  old  man  and  seize  the 
casket  out  of  hand,  and  he  would  probably 
have  done  so  and  taken  his  chances  at  getting 
back  to  the  upper  world,  had  he  not  been  chained 
to  his  comer  by  the  irresistible  hope  that  the  old 
man  knew  something  more — something  about  the 
king.  And  while  he  wondered,  reflecting  that 
at  any  cost  he  must  prevent  the  replacing  of  the 
pivotal  stone,  he  saw  old  Malakh  take  up  his  taper, 
turn  away  from  the  table,  and  open  a  door  which 
the  room's  central  pillar  had  cut  from  his  view. 
He  was  around  the  table  in  an  instant.  The 
open  door  revealed  three  stone  steps  which  the 
old  man  was  ascending,  one  at  a  time.  Following 
him  cautiously  St.  George  heard  a  door  grate 
outward  at  the  head  of  the  stair,  saw  the  taper 
move  forward  in  darkness,  and  the  next  moment 
found  himself  standing  in  the  room  of  the  tombs 
of  the  kings  of  Yaque.     And  he  saw  that  the 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  317 

panel  which  had  swung  inward  to  admit  them 
was  set  low  in  the  monolithic  tomb  of  King 
Abibaal  himself. 

Old  Malakh  had  crossed  swiftly  to  the  wall 
opposite  the  tomb,  and  stood  before  the  vacant 
niche  which  was  to  be  occupied,  as  Jarvo  had 
announced,  by  "  His  Majesty,  King  Otho,  by  the 
grace  of  God."  There,  setting  aside  his  taper, 
the  old  man  stretched  his  arms  upward  to  the 
empty  shelf  and  with  a  gesture  of  inconceivable 
weariness  bowed  his  head  upon  them  and  stood 
silent,  the  leaping  candle-light  silvering  his  hair. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  thought  St  George  with 
finality,  "  he's  murdered  him.  Old  Malakh  has 
murdered  the  king,  and  it's  driven  him  crazy,  " 

With  that  he  did  step  out  of  the  dark,  and  he 
laid  his  hand  suddenly  upon  the  old  man's 
shoulder. 

"  Malakh,"  he  said,  "  what  have  you  done  with 
the  king?  " 

The  old  man  lifted  his  head  and  turned  toward 
St.  George  a  face  of  singular  calm.  It  was  as  if 
so  many  phantoms  vexed  his  brain  that  a  strange 
reality  was  of  little  consequence.  But  as  his 
eyes  met  those  of  St.  George  a  sudden  dimness 
came  over  them,  the  lids  fluttered  and  dropped, 
and  his  lips  barely  formed  his  words: 

"The  king,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  leave  the 
king.  It  was  the  king  who  somehow  went  away 
and  left  me  here " 


318  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

He  threw  out  his  hands  blindly,  tottered  and 
swayed  from  the  wall;  and  St.  George  received 
him  as  he  fell,  measuring  his  length  upon  the 
stones  before  King  Otho's  future  tomb. 

St.  George  caught  down  the  light  and  knelt 
beside  him.  Death  seemed  to  have  come  "press- 
ing within  his  face,"  and  breathing  hardly  dis- 
quieted his  breast.  St.  George  fumbled  at  the 
old  man's  robe,  and  beneath  his  fingers  the  heart 
fluttered  never  so  faintly.  He  loosened  the  cloth 
at  the  withered  tliroat,  passed  his  hand  over  the 
still  forehead,  and  looked  desperately  about  him. 

The  other  inmates  of  the  palace  were,  he 
reflected,  about  two  good  city  blocks  from  him; 
and  he  doubted  if  he  could  ever  find  his  unaided 
way  back  to  them.  Mechanically,  though  he  knew 
that  he  carried  no  flask,  he  felt  conscientiously 
through  his  pockets — a  habit  of  the  boy  in  per- 
plexity which  never  deserts  the  man  in  crises. 
In  the  inside  pocket  of  the  coat  that  he  was 
wearing — Amory's  coat — his  fingers  suddenly 
closed  about  something  made  of  glass.  He  seized 
it  and  drew  it  forth. 

It  was  a  little  vase  of  rock-crystal,  ornamented 
with  gold  medallions,  covered  with  exquisite  and 
precise  engraving  of  great  beauty  and  variety 
of  design — gryphons,  serpents,  winged  discs,  men 
contending  with  lions.  St.  George  stared  at  it 
uncomprehendingly.  In  the  press  of  events  of 
the  last  eight-and-forty  hours  Amory  had  quite 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  319^ 

forgotten  to  mention  to  him  the  prince's  intended 
gift  of  wine,  almost  three  thousand  years  old, 
sealed  in  Phoenicia. 

St.  George  drew  the  stopper.  In  an  instant  an 
odour,  spicy,  penetrating,  delicious,  saluted  him 
and  gave  life  to  the  dead  air  of  the  room.  For 
a  moment  he  hesitated.  He  knew  that  the  flask 
had  not  been  among  Amory's  belongings  and 
that  he  himself  had  never  seen  it  before.  But 
the  odour  was,  he  thought,  unmistakable,  and  so 
powerful  that  already  he  felt  as  if  the  liquor 
were  racing  through  his  own  veins.  He  touched 
it  to  his  lips;  it  was  like  a  full  draught  of  some 
marvelous  elixir.  Sudden  confidence  sat  upon  St. 
George,  and  thanking  his  guiding  stars  for  the 
fortunate  chance,  he  unhesitatingly  set  the  flask 
to  the  old  man's  lips. 

There  was  a  long-drawn,  shuddering  breath,  a 
fluttering  of  the  eyelids,  a  movement  of  the 
limbs,  and  after  that  old  Malakh  lay  quite  still 
upon  the  stones.  Once  more  St.  George  thrust 
his  hand  within  the  bosom  of  the  loose  robe, 
and  the  heart  was  beating  rapidly  and  regularly 
and  with  amazing  force.  In  a  moment  deep 
breaths  succeeded  one  another,  filling  the  breast 
of  the  unconscious  man;  but  the  eyelids  did  not 
unclose,  and  St.  George  took  up  the  taper  and 
bent  to  scan  the  quiet  face. 

St.  George  looked,  and  sank  to  his  knees  and 
looked  again,  holding  the  light  now  here,  now 


320  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

there,  and  peering  in  growing  bewilderment. 
What  he  saw  he  was  wholly  unable  to  define. 
It  was  as  if  a  mask  were  slowly  to  dissolve  and 
yet  to  lie  upon  the  features  which  it  had  covered, 
revealing  while  it  still  made  mock  of  concealing. 
Colour  was  in  the  lips,  colour  was  stealing  into 
the  changed  face.  The  changed  face — changed, 
St.  George  could  not  tell  how;  and  the  longer  he 
looked,  and  though  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and 
turned  them  toward  the  dark  and  then  looked 
again,  moving  the  taper,  he  could  neither  explain 
nor  define  what  had  happened. 

He  set  the  candle  on  the  floor  and  sprang 
away  from  the  quiet  figure,  searching  the  dark. 
The  great  silent  place,  with  its  shoulders  of 
sarcophagi  jutting  from  the  gloom  was  black 
save  for  the  little  ring  of  pallid  light  about  that 
prostrate  form.  St.  George  sent  his  hand  to 
his  forehead,  and  shook  himself  a  bit,  and 
straightened  his  shoulders  with  a  smile. 

"  It  must  be  the  stuff  you've  tasted,"  he 
addressed  himself  solemnly.  "  Heaven  knows 
what  it  was.     It's  the  stuff  you've  tasted." 

Though  he  had  barely  touched  his  lips  to  the 
rock-crystal  vase  St.  George's  blood  was  pounding 
through  his  veins,  and  a  curious  exhilaration 
filled  him.  He  looked  about  at  the  rims  and 
corners  of  the  tombs  caught  by  the  light,  and  he 
laughed  a  little — though  this  was  not  in  the 
least  what  he  intended — ^because  it  passed  through 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  321 

his  mind  that  if  King  Abibaal  and  Queen  Mitygen, 
for  example,  might  be  treated  with  the  contents 
of  the  mysterious  vase  they  would  no  doubt 
come  forth,  Abibaal  with  memories  of  the  Queen 
of  Sheba  in  his  eyes,  and  Queen  Mitygen  with 
her  casket  of  Alexander 's  letters .  Then  St .  George 
went  down  on  his  knees  again,  and  raised  the  old 
man's  head  until  it  rested  upon  his  own  breast,  and 
he  passed  the  candle  before  his  face,  his  hand  trem- 
bling   so   that  the  light  flickered  and  leaped  up. 

This  time  there  was  no  mistaking.  The  tis- 
sues of  old  Malakh's  ashen  face  and  throat  and 
pallid  hands  were  undergoing  some  subtle  trans- 
figuration. It  was  as  if  new  blood  had  come 
encroaching  in  their  veins.  It  was  as  if  the  mus- 
cles were  become  firm  and  full,  as  if  the  wrinkled 
skin  had  been  made  smooth,  the  lips  grown  fresh, 
as  if — the  word  came  to  St.  George  as  he  stared, 
spell-stricken — as  if  youth  had  returned. 

St.  George  slipped  down  upon  the  stones  and 
sat  motionless.  There  was  a  little  blue,  forked 
vein  on  the  man's  forehead,  and  upon  this  he 
fastened  his  eyes,  mechanically  following  it  down- 
ward and  back.  Lines  had  crossed  it,  and  there 
had  been  a  deep  cleft  between  the  eyes,  but 
these  had  disappeared,  leaving  the  brow  almost 
smooth.  The  cheeks  were  now  tinged  with  colour, 
and  the  throat,  where  he  had  pulled  aside  the  robe, 
showed  firm  and  white.  Mechanically  St.  George 
passed  his  hand  along  the  inert  arm,  and  it  was  no 


322  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

more  withered  than  his  own — the  arm  of  no  grey- 
beard, but  of  a  man  in  the  prime  of  life.  What 
did  it  mean — what  did  it  mean?  St.  George 
waited,  the  blood  throbbing  in  his  temples,  a 
mist  before  his  eyes.     What  did  it  mean? 

The  minutes  dragged  by  and  still  the  uncon- 
scious man  did  not  stir  or  unclose  his  eyes.  From 
time  to  time  St.  George  pressed  his  hand  to  the 
heart,  and  found  it  beating  on  rhythmically, 
powerfully.  When  he  found  himself  sitting 
with,  averted  head,  as  if  he  were  afraid  to  look 
back  at  that  changing  face,  a  fear  seized  him  that 
he  had  lost  his  reason  and  that  what  he  imagined 
himself  to  see  was  a  phase  of  madness.  So 
he  left  the  old  man's  side  and  sturdily  tramped 
away  into  the  huge  dark  of  the  room,  resolutely 
explaining  to  himself  that  this  was  all  very  natural ; 
the  old  man  had  been  ill,  improperly  nourished, 
and  the  powerful  stimulant  of  the  wine  had 
partly  restored  him.  But  even  while  he  went 
over  it  St.  George  knew  in  his  heart  that  what 
had  happened  was  nothing  that  could  be  so 
explained,  nothing  that  could  be  explained  at  all 
by  anything  within  his  ken. 

His  footsteps  echoed  startlingly  on  the  stones, 
and  the  chill  breath  of  the  place  smote  his  face  as 
he  moved.  He  stumbled  on  a  displaced  tile  and 
pitched  forward  upon  a  jagged  corner  of  sarcoph- 
agus, and  reeled  as  if  at  a  blow  from  some  arm  of 
the  darkness.     The  taper  rays  struck  a  length  of 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  323 

wall  before  him,  minting  from  the  gloom  a  sheet 
of  pale  orchids  clinging  to  the  unclean  rock. 
St.  George  remembered  a  green  slope,  spangled 
with  crocuses  and  wild  strawberries,  coloured 
like  the  orchids  but  lying  under  free  sky,  in 
free  air.  It  seemed  only  a  trick  of  Chance  that 
he  was  not  now  lying  on  that  far  slope,  wherever 
it  was,  instead  of  facing  these  ghost  blooms  in 
this  ghost  place.  Back  there,  where  the  light 
glimmered  beside  the  tomb  of  King  Abibaal, 
nobody  could  tell  what  awaited  him.  If  the  man 
could  change  like  this,  might  he  not  take  on 
some  shape  too  hideous  to  bear  in  the  silence? 
St.  George  stood  still,  suddenly  clenching  his 
hands,  trying  to  reach  out  through  the  dark  and 
to  grasp — himself,  the  self  that  seemed  slipping 
away  from  him.  But  was  he  mad  already,  he 
wondered  angrily,  and  hurried  back  to  the  far 
flickering  light,  stumbling,  panting,  not  daring 
to  look  at  the  figiure  on  the  floor,  not  daring 
not  to  look. 

He  resolutely  caught  up  the  candle  and  peered 
once  more  at  the  face.  As  steadily  and  swiftly 
as  change  in  the  aspect  of  the  sky  the  face  had 
gone  on  changing.  St.  George  had  followed  to 
the  chamber  an  old  tottering  man ;  the  figure  before 
him  was  a  man  of  not  more  than  fifty  years. 

St.  George  let  fall  the  candle,  which  flickered 
down,  upright  in  its  socket;  and  he  turned  away, 
his  hand  across  his  eyes.       Since  this  was  mani- 


324  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

festly  impossible  he  must  be  mad,  something  in 
the  stuff  that  he  had  tasted  had  driven  him 
mad.  He  felt  strong  as  a  lion,  strong  enough 
to  lift  that  prostrate  figure  and  to  carry  it  through 
the  winding  passages  into  the  midst  of  those 
above  stairs,  and  to  beg  them  in  mercy  to  tell  him 
how  the  man  looked.  What  would  she  say? 
He  wondered  what  Olivia  would  say.  Dinner 
\70vXd  be  over  and  they  would  be  in  the  drawing- 
room — Olivia  and  Amory  and  Antoinette  Froth- 
ingham;  already  the  white  room  and  the  lights 
and  Antoinette's  laughter  seemed  to  him  of 
another  world,  a  world  from  which  he  had  irre- 
vocably passed.  Yet  there  they  were  above, 
the  same  roof  covering  them,  and  they  did  not 
know  that  down  here  in  this  place  of  the  dead  he, 
St.  George,  was  beyond  all  question  going  mad. 
With  a  cry  he  pulled  off  Amory 's  coat,  flung  it 
over  the  unconscious  man,  and  rushed  out  into 
the  blackness  of  the  corridor.  He  would  not  take 
the  light — the  man  must  not  die  alone  there  in  the 
dark — and  besides  he  had  heard  that  the  mad 
could  see  as  well  in  the  dark  as  in  the  light.  Or 
was  it  the  blind  who  could  see  in  the  dark?  No 
doubt  it  was  the  blind.  However,  he  could  find 
his  way,  he  thought  triumphantly,  and  ran  on, 
dragging  his  hand  along  the  slippery  stones  of  the 
v/all — he  could  find  his  way.  Only  he  must  call 
out,  to  tell  them  who  it  was  that  was  lost.  So 
he  called  himself  by  name,  aloud  and  sternly,  and 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  325' 

after  that  he  kept  on  quietly  enough,  serene  in 
the  conviction  that  he  had  regained  his  self-con- 
trol, fighting  to  keep  his  mind  from  returning  to 
the  face  that  changed  before  his  eyes,  like  the 
appearances  in  the  puppet  shows.  But  sud- 
denly he  became  conscious  that  it  was  his  own 
name  that  he  went  shouting  through  the  passages ; 
and  that  was  openly  absurd,  he  reasoned,  since  if 
he  wanted  to  be  found  he  must  call  some  one  else's 
name.  But  he  must  hurry — hurry — hurry;  no 
one  could  tell  what  might  be  happening  back 
there  to  that  face  that  changed. 

"Olivia!"  he  shouted,  "  Amory!  Jarvo — oh, 
Jarvo!  Rollo,  you  scoundrel " 

Whereat  the  memory  that  Rollo  was  somewhere 
on  a  yacht  assailed  him,  and  he  pressed  on, 
blindly  and  in  silence,  until  glimmering  before 
him  he  saw  a  light  shining  from  an  open  door. 
Then  he  rushed  forward  and  with  a  groan  of 
relief  threw  himself  into  the  room.  Oppo- 
site the  door  loomed  the  grim  sarcophagus  of 
King  Abibaal,  and  beside  it  on  the  floor  lay  the 
figure  with  the  face  that  changed.  He  had  gone 
a  circle  in  those  tortuous  passages,  and  this  was 
the  room  of  the  tombs  of  the  kings. 

He  dragged  himself  across  the  chamber  toward 
the  still  form.  He  must  look  again;  no  one 
could  tell  what  might  have  happened.  He  pulled 
down  the  coat  and  looked.  And  there  was  surely 
nothing  in  the  delicate,  handsome,  English-looking 


3^6  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

face  upturned  to  his  to  give  him  new  horror.  It 
was  only  that  he  had  come  down  here  in  the  wake 
of  a  tottering  old  creature,  and  that  here  in  his 
place  lay  a  man  who  was  not  he.  Which  was 
manifestly  impossible. 

Mechanically  St,  George's  hand  went  to  the 
man's  heart.  It  was  beating  regularly  and  pow- 
erfully, and  deep  breaths  were  coming  from  the 
full,  healthily-coloured  lips.  For  a  moment  St. 
George  knelt  there,  his  blood  tingling  and  pricking 
in  his  veins  and  pulsing  in  his  temples.  Then  he 
swayed  and  fell  upon  the  stones. 

When  St.  George  opened  his  eyes  it  was  ten 
o'clock  of  the  following  morning,  though  he  felt 
no  interest  in  that.  There  was  before  him  a 
great  rectangle  of  light.  He  lifted  his  head 
and  saw  that  the  light  appeared  to  flow 
from  the  interior  of  the  tomb  of  King  Abibaal. 
The  next  moment  Amory's  cheery  voice,  pitched 
high  in  consternation  and  relief,  made  havoc 
among  the  echoes  with  a  background  of 
Jarvo's  smooth  thanksgiving  for  the  return  of 
adon. 

St.  George,  coatless,  stiff  from  the  hours  on 
the  mouldy  stones,  dragged  himself  up  and 
turned  his  eyes  in  fear  upon  the  figure  beside 
him.  It  flashed  hopefully  through  his  mind  that 
perhaps  it  had  not  changed,  that  perhaps  he  had 
dreamed  it  all,  that  perhaps  .   .   . 


BENEATH  THE  SURFACE  327 

By  his  first  glance  that  hope  was  dispelled. 
From  beneath  Amory's  coat  on  the  floor  an  arm 
came  forth,  pushing  the  coat  aside,  and  a  man 
slenderly  built,  with  a  youthful,  sensitive  face  and 
somewhat  critically-drooping  lids,  sat  up  leisurely 
and  looked  about  him  in  slow  surprise,  kindling 
to  distinct  amusement. 

"  Upon  my  soul,"  he  said  softly,  "  what  an 
admission — what  an  admission!  I  can  not  have 
made  such  a  night  of  it  in  years." 

Upon  which  Jarvo  dropped  unhesitatingly  to 
his  knees. 

"  Melek!  Melek!"  he  cried,  prostrating  him- 
self again  and  again.  "The  King!  The  King! 
The  gods  have  permitted  the  possible." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

A  MORNING  VISIT 

In  an  upper  room  in  the  Palace  of  the 
Litany,  fair  with  all  the  burnished  devices  of  the 
early  light,  Prince  Tabnit  paced  on  that  morning 
of  mornings  of  his  marriage  day.  Because 
of  his  great  happiness  the  whole  world  seemed 
to  him  like  some  exquisite  intaglio  of  which  this 
day  was  the  design. 

The  room,  "  walled  with  soft  splendours  of 
Damascus  tiles,"  was  laid  with  skins  of  forgotten 
animals  and  was  hung  with  historic  tapestries  dyed 
by  ancient  fingers  in  the  spiral  veins  of  the  Murex. 
There  were  frescoes  uniting  the  dream  with  its 
actuality,  columns  carved  with  both  lines  and 
names  of  beauty,  pilasters  decorated  with  chain 
and  checker-work  and  golden  nets.  A  stairway 
led  to  a  high  shrine  where  hung  the  crucified 
Tyrian  sphinx.  The  room  was  like  a  singing 
voice  summoning  one  to  delights  which  it  described. 
But  whatever  way  one  looked  all  the  lines  neither 
pointed  nor  seemed  to  have  had  beginning,  but 
being  divorced  from  source  and  direction  expressed 

328 


A  MORNING  VISIT  329 

merely  beauty,  like  an  altar  • '  where  none  cometh 
to  pray." 

Prince  Tabnit,  in  his  trailing  robe  of  white 
embroidered  by  a  thousand  needles,  looked  so 
akin  to  the  room  that  one  suspected  it  of  having 
produced  him,  Athena-wise,  from,  say,  the  great 
black  shrine.  When  he  paused  before  the  shrine  he 
seemed  like  a  child  come  to  beseech  some  last  word 
concerning  the  Riddle,  rather  than  a  man  who 
believed  himself  to  have  mastered  all  wisdom 
and  to  have  nailed  the  world-sphinx  to  her  cross. 

"Surely  there  is  a  vein  for  the  silver 
And  a  place  for  the  gold  where  they  fine  it. 
Iron  is  taken  out  of  the  earth 
And  brass  is  moulton  out  of  the  stone. 
Man  setteth  an  end  to  darkness 
And  searcheth  out  all  perfection: 
The  stones  of  darkness  and  of  the  shadow  of  death," 

he  was  repeating  softly.  "So  it  is,"  he  added, 
•*  '  and  searcheth  to  the  farthest  bound.'  Have 
I  not  done  so?     And  do  I  not  triumph?  " 

Then  the  youth  who  had  once  admitted  St. 
George  and  his  friends  to  that  far-away  house  in 
McDougle  Street — with  the  hokey-pokey  man  out- 
side the  door — entered  with  the  poetry  of  defer- 
ence; and  if,  as  he  bent  low,  there  was  a  lift  and 
droop  of  his  eyelids  which  tokened  utter  bewilder- 
ment, not  to  say  agitation,  he  was  careful  that 
the  prince  should  not  see  that. 

"  Her  Highness,  the  Princess  of  Yaque,  Mrs. 
Hastings,  Mr.   Augustus  Frothingham  and  Miss 


330  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Frothingham  ask  audience,  your  Highness,"  he 
announced  clearly. 

Prince  Tabnit  turned  swiftly. 

"  Whom  do  you  say,  Matten?"  he  questioned 
and  when  the  boy  had  repeated  the  names, 
meditated  briefly.  He  was  at  a  loss  to  fathom 
what  this  strange  visit  might  portend;  beyond 
doubt,  he  reflected  (in  a  world  which  was  an  intag- 
lio of  his  own  designing)  it  portended  nothing  at 
all.  He  hastened  forward  to  wait  upon  them  and 
paused  midway  the  room,  for  the  highest  tribute 
that  a  Prince  of  the  Litany  could  pay  to  another 
was  to  receive  him  in  this  chamber  of  the  Crucified 
Sphinx. 

"  Conduct  them  here,  Matten,"  he  commanded, 
and  took  up  his  station  beside  an  hundred- 
branched  candlestick  made  in  Curium.  There  he 
stood  when,  having  been  led  down  corridors  of 
ivory  and  through  shining  anterooms,  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  Olivia  and  Antoinette  appeared 
on  the  threshold  of  the  chamber,  followed  by 
Mr.  Frothingham.  As  the  prince  hastened  for- 
ward to  meet  them  with  sweepings  of  his  gown 
embroidered  by  a  thousand  needles  and  bent 
above  their  hands  uttering  gracious  words, 
assuredly  in  all  the  history  of  Med  and  of  the 
Litany  the  room  of  the  Crucified  Sphinx  had 
never  presented  a  more  peculiar  picture. 

Into  that  tranquil  atmosphere,  dream-pervaded, 
Mrs.  Medora  Hastings  swept  with  all  the  certainty 


A  MORNING  VISIT  881 

of  an  opinion  bludgeoning  the  frail  security  of 
a  fact.  She  had  refused  to  have  her  belongings 
sent  to  the  apartments  in  the  House  of  the  Litany 
placed  that  day  at  her  disposal,  preferring  to 
dress  for  the  coronation  before  she  descended 
from  Mount  KJialak.  She  was  therefore  in  a 
robe  of  black  samite,  trimmed  with  the  ftir  of 
a  whole  chapter  of  extinct  animals,  and  bangles 
and  pendants  of  jewels  bobbed  and  ticked  all 
about  her.  But  on  her  head  she  wore  the  bonnet 
trimmed  with  a  parrot,  set,  as  usual,  frightfully 
awry.  Beside  her,  with  all  the  timidity  of 
charming  reality  in  the  presence  of  fantasy, 
came  Olivia  and  Antoinette — Olivia  in  a  walking 
frock  of  white  broadcloth,  with  an  auto  coat  of 
hunting  pink,  and  a  cap  held  down  by  yards  of 
cloudy  veiling;  Antoinette  in  a  blue  cloth  gown, 
and  about  them  both — stout  little  boots  and 
suede  gloves  and  smart  shirt-waists — such  an 
air  of  actuality  as  this  chamber,  prince  and 
Sphinx  and  tradition  and  all,  could  not  approach. 
Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham  had  struck  his 
usual  incontestable  middle-groimd  by  appearing 
in  the  blue  velvet  of  a  robe  of  State,  over  which 
he  had  slipped  his  light  covert  top-coat,  and  he 
carried  his  immaculate  top-hat  and  a  silver- 
headed  stick. 

"  Prince  Tabnit,"  said  Mrs.  Medora  Hastings 
'.Tithout  ceremony,  "  what  have  they  done  with 
that  poor  young  man?     Ask  him,   Olivia,"   she 


332  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

besought,  sinking  down  upon  a  chair  of  verd 
antique  and  extending  a  limp,  plump  hand  to 
the  niece  who  always  did  everything  executive. 

Olivia  was  very  pale.  She  had  hardly  slept, 
night-long.  Alarm  at  the  inexplicable  disap- 
pearance of  St.  George  at  dinner-time  the  day 
before  and  at  the  discovery  that  old  Malakh  was 
nowhere  about  had,  by  morning,  deepened  to 
unreasoning  fear  among  them  all.  And  then 
Olivia,  knowing  nothing  of  what  had  taken  place 
in  the  room  of  the  tombs,  had  resolved  upon  a 
desperate  expedient,  had  bundled  into  an  airship 
her  almost  prostrate  aunt,  Mr.  Frothingham  and 
his  excited  little  daughter,  and  had  borne  down 
upon  the  Palace  of  the  Litany  two  hours  before 
noon.  Amory,  frantic  with  apprehension,  had 
stayed  behind  with  Jarvo,  certain  that  St.  George 
could  not  have  left  the  mountain.  But  now 
that  Olivia  stood  before  the  prince  it  required 
but  a  moment  to  convince  her  that  Prince  Tabnit 
really  knew  nothing  of  St.  George's  whereabouts. 
Indeed,  since  his  gift  of  Phoenician  wine,  sealed 
three  thousand  years  ago,  and  the  immediate 
evanishment  of  the  two  Americans,  his  Highness 
had  no  longer  vexed  his  thought  with  them,  and 
he  was  genuinely  amazed  to  know  that  (in  a 
world  which  was  an  intaglio  of  his  own  designing) 
these  two  had  actually  spent  yesterday  at  the 
king's  palace  on  Mount  Khalak.  He  perceived 
that  he  must  give  them  more  definite  attention 


A  MORNING  VISIT  833 

than  his  half-idle  device  of  the  wine — intended 
as  that  had  been  as  a  mere  hyperspatial  practical 
joke,  not  in  the  least  irreconcilable  with  his 
office  of  host. 

"  Mr.  St.  George  came  to  Yaque  to  help  me 
find  my  father,"  Olivia  was  concluding  earnestly, 
"  and  if  anything  has  happened  to  him,  Prince 
Tabnit,  I  alone  am  responsible." 

The  prince  reflected  for  a  moment,  his  eyes  fixed 
upon  the  hundred-branched  candlestick.     Then : 

"  Mr.  St.  George's  disappearance,"  he  said, 
"  has  prevented  a  still  more  unpleasant  catas- 
trophe." 

"  Catastrophe!  "  repeated  Mrs.  Hastings,  quite 
without  tucking  in  her  voice  at  the  comers,  "  I 
have  thought  of  no  other  word  since  I  got  to 
be  royalty." 

"  A  world  experience,  a  world  experience,  dear 
Madame,"  contributed  Mr.  Frothingham,  his 
hands  laid  trimly  along  his  blue  velvet  lap. 

"  But  that  doesn't  make  it  any  easier  to  bear, 
no  matter  what  anybody  says,"  retorted  the  lady. 

"  Inasmuch,"  pursued  Prince  Tabnit  with  infi- 
nite regret,  "  as  these  Americans  have,  as  you 
say,  assisted  in  the  search  for  your  father,  the 
king,  they  have  most  unfortunately  violated  that 
ancient  law  which  provides  that  no  State  or 
satrapy  shall  receive  aid,  whether  of  blood  or  of 
bond,  from  an  alien.  The  Royal  House  alone  is 
exempt." 


334  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

"  And  the  penalty,"  demanded  Olivia  fearfully. 
"  Is  there  a  penalty?  What  is  that,  Prince  Tab- 
nit?  " 

The  voice  of  the  prince  was  never  more  mellow. 

**  Do  not  be  alarmed,  I  beg,"  he  hastened  his 
reassurance.  "  Upon  the  return  of  Mr.  St.  George, 
he  and  his  friend  will  simply  be  set  adrift  in  a 
rudderless  airship,  an  offering  to  the  great  idea 
of  space." 

Mrs.  Hastings  swayed  toward  the  prince  in  her 
chair  of  verd  antique,  and  her  voice  seemed  to 
become  brittle  in  the  air. 

"  Oh,  is  that  what  you  call  being  ahead  of 
the  time,"  she  demanded  shrilly,  "  getting 
behind  science  to  behave  like  Nero?  And  for 
my  part  I  don't  see  anything  whatever  about  the 
island  that  is  ahead  of  the  times.  You  haven't 
even  got  silk  shoe-laces.  I  actually  had  to  use  a 
cloth-of-gold  sandal  strap  to  lace  my  oxfords, 
and  when  I  lost  a  cuff-link  I  was  obliged  to  make 
shift  with  two  sides  of  one  of  Queen  Agothonike's 
ear-rings  that  I  foimd  in  the  museum  at  the  palace. 
And  that  isn't  all,"  went  on  the  lady,  wrong 
kindling  wrong,  "  what  do  you  do  for  paper 
and  envelopes?  There  is  not  a  quire  to  be  found 
in  Med.  They  offered  me  wireless  blanks — an 
ultra  form  that  Mr.  Hastings  would  never  have 
considered  in  good  taste.  And  how  about  visit- 
ing cards?  I  tried  to  have  a  plate  made,  and 
they  showed  me  a  wireless  apparatus  for  flashing 


A  MORNING  VISIT 

from  the  doorstep  the  name  of  the  visitor — an 
electrical  entrance  which  Mr.  Hastings  would 
have  considered  most  inelegant.  Ahead  of  the 
times,  with  your  rudderless  airships  1  I  have 
always  said  that  the  electric  chair  is  a  way  to  be 
barbarous  and  good  form  at  the  same  time,  and 
that  is  what  I  think  about  Yaque!  " 

Mr.  Frothingham's  hands  worked  forward  con- 
vulsively on  his  blue  velvet  knees. 

"  My  dear  Madame,"  he  interposed  earnestly, 
'•  the  history  of  criminal  jurisprudence,  not  to 
mention  the  remarkable  essay  of  the  Marquis 
Beccaria — proves  beyond  doubt  that  the  extirpa- 
tion of  the  offender  is  the  only  possible  safety 
for  the  State " 

Olivia  rose  and  stood  before  the  prince,  her  eyes 
meeting  his. 

"  You  will  permit  this  sentence?  "  she  asked 
steadily.  '  'As  head  of  the  House  of  the  Litany,  you 
will  execute  it,  Prince  Tabnit?  " 

"Alas!  "  said  the  prince  humbly,  "  it  is  custom- 
ary on  the  day  of  the  coronation  to  set  adrift 
all  offenders.     I  am  the  servant  of  the  State." 

"  Then,  Prince  Tabnit,  I  can  not  marry  you." 

At  this  Mrs.  Hastings  looked  blindly  about  for 
support,  and  Mr.  Frothingham  and  Antoinette 
flew  to  her  side.  In  that  moment  the  lady  had 
seen  herself,  prophetically,  in  black  samite  and 
her  parrot  bonnet,  set  adrift  in  the  penitential 
airship  with  her  rebellious  niece. 


336  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

For  a  moment  Prince  Tabnit  hesitated:  he 
looked  at  Olivia,  who  was  never  more  beautiful  than 
as  she  defied  him;  then  he  walked  slowly  toward 
her,  with  sweep  and  fall  of  his  garments  embroid- 
ered by  a  thousand  needles.  Antoinette  and  her 
father,  ministering  to  Mrs.  Hastings,  heard  only 
the  new  note  that  had  crept  into  his  voice,  a  thrill, 
a  tremour 

"  Olivia!  "  he  said. 

Her  eyes  met  his  in  amazement  but  no  fear. 

"  In  a  land  more  alien  to  me  than  the  sun," 
said  the  prince,  "  I  saw  you,  and  in  that  moment 
I  loved  you.  I  love  you  more  than  the  life 
beyond  life  upon  which  I  have  laid  hold.  I 
brought  you  to  this  island  to  make  you  my  wife. 
Do  you  understand  what  it  is  that  I  offer  you?  " 

Olivia  was  silent.  She  was  trembling  a  little 
at  the  sheer  enormity  of  the  moment.  Suddenly, 
Prince  Tabnit  seemed  to  her  like  a  name  that  she 
did  not  know. 

"  Will  you  not  understand  what  I  mean?  "  he 
besought  with  passionate  earnestness.  "  Can  I 
make  my  words  mean  nothing  to  you?  Do  you 
not  see  that  it  is  indeed  as  I  say — that  I  have 
grasped  the  secret  of  life  within  life,  beyond  life, 
transcending  life,  as  his  understanding  transcends 
the  man?  The  wonder  of  the  island  is  but  the 
alphabet  of  wisdom.  The  secrets  of  life  and  death 
and  being  itself  are  in  my  grasp.  The  hidden 
things   that   come   near   to   you   in   beauty,   in 


A  MORNING  VISIT  337 

dream,  in  inspiration  are  mine  and  my  people's. 
All  these  I  can  make  yours— I  offer  you  life  of  a 
fullness  such  as  the  people  of  the  world  do  not 
dream.  I  will  love  you  as  the  gods  love,  and  as 
the  gods  we  will  live  and  love— it  may  be  for  ever. 
Nothing  of  high  wisdom  shall  be  unrevealed  to 
us.  We  shall  be  what  the  world  will  be  when 
it  nears  the  close  of  time.  Come  to  me— trust  me 
—be  beside  me  in  all  the  wonder  that  I  know. 
But  above  all,  love  me,  for  I  love  you  more  than 
life,  and  wisdom,  and  mystery!  " 

Olivia  imderstood,  and  she  believed.  The  mys- 
tery of  life  had  always  been  more  real  to  her  than 
its  commonplaces,  and  all  her  years  she  had 
gone  half -expecting  to  meet  some  one,  unheralded, 
to  whom  all  things  would  be  clear,  and  who  should 
make  her  know  by  some  secret  sign  that  this  was 
so,  and  should  share  with  her.  She  had  no  doubt 
whatever  that  Prince  Tabnit  spoke  the  truth- 
just  as  the  daughter  of  the  river-god  Inachus 
knew  perfectly  that  she  was  being  wooed  by  a 
voice  from  the  air.  Indeed,  the  world  over, 
lovers  promise  each  other  infinite  things,  and  are 
infinitely  believed. 

"I  do  understand  you,  Prince  Tabnit," 
Olivia  said  simply,  "  I  do  understand  something 
of  what  you  offer  me.  I  think  that  these  things 
were  not  meant  to  be  hidden  from  men  always, 
so  I  can  even  believe  that  you  have  all  that  you 
say.     But— there  is  something  more." 


338  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Olivia  paused — and  swiftly,  as  if  some  little 
listening  spirit  had  released  the  picture  from  the 
air,  came  the  memory  of  that  night  when  she 
had  stood  with  St.  George  on  that  airy  rampart 
beside  the  wall  of  blossoming  vines. 

"  There  is  sor^ething  more,"  she  repeated, 
"when  two  love  each  other  very  much  I  think 
that  they  have  everything  that  you  have  said, 
and  more." 

He  looked  at  her  in  silence.  The  stained  light 
from  some  high  window  caught  her  veil  in  meshes 
of  rose  and  violet — fairy  colours,  witnessing  the 
elusive,  fairy,  invincible  truth  of  what  she  said. 

"  You  mean  that  you  do  not  love  me?  "  said 
the  prince  gently. 

"I  do  not  love  you,  your  Highness,"  said 
Olivia,  "  and  as  for  the  wisdom  of  which  you 
speak,  that  is  worse  than  useless  to  you  if  you 
can  do  as  you  say  with  two  quite  innocent  men." 
She  hesitated,  searching  his  face.  "  Is  there  no 
way,"  she  said,  "that  I,  the  daughter  of  your 
king,  can  save  them?  I  will  appeal  to  the 
people! " 

The  prince  met  her  eyes  steadily,  adoringly. 

"  It  would  avail  nothing,"  he  said,  "  they  are 
at  one  with  the  law.  Yet  there  is  a  way  that 
I  can  help  you.  If  Mr.  St.  George  returns,  as  he 
must,  he  and  his  friends  shall  be  set  adrift  with 
due  ceremony — but  in  an  imperial  airship,  with 
a  man  secretly  in  control.     By  night  they  can 


A  MORNING  VISIT  339 

escape  to  their  yacht.  This  I  will  do — upon  one 
condition." 

"  Oh — what  is  that?  "  she  asked,  and  for  all 
the  reticence  of  her  eagerness,  her  voice  was  a 
betrayal. 

Prince  Tabnit  turned  to  the  window.  Below, 
in  the  palace  grounds,  and  without,  in  the  Kury- 
chorus,  a  thousand  people  awaited  the  opening  of 
the  palace  doors.  They  filled  the  majestic 
avenue,  poured  up  the  shadowed  alleys  that  taught 
the  necessity  of  mystery,  were  grouped  beneath 
the  honey-sweet  trees;  and  above  their  heads, 
from  every  dome  and  column  in  the  fair  city, 
flowed  and  streamed  the  joyous,  wizard,  name- 
less colours  of  the  pennons  blown  heavenward 
against  the  blue.  They  were  come,  this  strange, 
wise,  elusive  people,  to  her  marriage. 

The  prince  was  smiling  as  he  met  her  eyes; 
for  the  world  was  always  the  exquisite  intaglio, 
and  to-day  was  its  design. 

"  They  know,"  he  said  simply,  "  what  was  to 
have  been  at  noon  to-day.  Do  you  not  under- 
stand my  condition?" 


CHAPTER  XIX 

IN  THE   HALIv  OF   KINGS 

Somewhat  before  noon  the  great  doors  of  the 
Palace  of  the  Litany  and  of  the  Hall  of  Kings 
were  thrown  open,  and  the  people  streamed  in 
from  the  palace  grounds  and  the  Eurych6rus. 
Abroad  among  them — elusive  as  that  by  which 
we  know  that  a  given  moment  belongs  to  dawn, 
not  dusk — was  the  sense  of  questioning,  of  un- 
rest, of  expectancy  that  belongs  to  the  dawn 
itself.  Especially  the  youths  and  maidens — who, 
besides  wisdom,  knew  something  of  spells — waited 
with  a  certain  wistfulness  for  what  might  be,  for 
Change  is  a  kind  of  god  even  to  the  immortals. 
But  there  were  also  those  who  weighed  the 
departures  incident  to  the  coming  of  the  strange 
people  from  over-seas;  and  there  were  not  lacking 
conservatives  of  the  old  regime  to  shake  wise 
heads  and  declare  that  a  barbarian  is  a  barbarian, 
the  world  over. 

All  that  rainbow  multitude,  clad  for  festival, 
rose  with  the  first  light  music  that  stole,  winged 
and  silken,  from  hidden  cedar  alcoves,  and  some 

340 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  841 

minutes  past  the  sounding  of  the  hour  of  noon 
the  chamfered  doors  set  high  in  the  south  wall 
of  the  Hall  of  Kings  were  swung  open,  and  at 
the  head  of  the  stair  appeared  Olivia. 

She  was  alone,  for  the  custom  of  Yaque  required 
that  the  island  princesses  should  on  the  day  of 
their   recognition   first  appear  alone  before  their 
people  in  token  of  their  mutual  faith.     From  the 
wardrobes  at  the  castle   Olivia  had  chosen  the 
coronation  gown  of  Queen  Mitygen  herself.     It 
was  of  fine  lace  woven  in  a  single  piece,  and  it 
lay  in  a  foam  of  shining  threads  traced  with  pure 
lines  of   shadow.      On  her   head  were  a  jeweled 
coronal  and  jeweled  hair-loops  in  the  Phoenician 
fashion,  once  taken  from  a  king's  casket  and  sent 
secretly,    upon    the    decline  of  Assyrian  ascend- 
ancy, to  be  bartered  in  the  marts  of   Coele-Syria. 
Chains  of  jewels,  in  a  noon  of  colour,  lay  about 
her  throat,  as  once  they  lay  upon  the  shoulders 
of  the  dead  queens  of  Yaque  and,  before  them, 
of  the  women  of  the  elder  dynasties  long  since 
recorded  in  indifferent  dust.     Girdling  her  waist 
was  a  zone  of  rubies  that  burned  positive  in  the 
tempered    light.     With  all  her  delicacy,   Olivia 
was  like  her  rubies— vivid,  graphic,  delineated  not 
by  light  but  by  line. 

The  members  of  the  High  Council  rustled  in 
their  colour  and  white,  and  flashed  their  golden 
stars;  the  Golden  Guards  (save  the  apostate  few 
who  were  that  day  sentenced  to  be  set  adrift) 


342  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

were  filling  the  stairway  like  a  bank  of  butter- 
cups; and  Olivia's  women,  led  by  Antoinette  in 
a  gown  of  colours  not  to  be  lightly  denominated, 
were  entering  by  an  opposite  door.  In  the  raised 
seats  near  the  High  Council,  Mrs.  Hastings  and 
Mr.  Frothingham  leaned  to  wave  a  sustaining 
greeting.  Until  that  high  moment  Mrs.  Medora 
Hastings  had  been  by  no  means  certain  that 
Olivia  would  appear  at  all,  though  she  openly 
nourished  the  hope  that  "  everything  would  go 
off  smoothly. "  ("I  don't  care  much  for  foreigners 
and  never  have,"  she  confided  to  Mr.  Frothing- 
ham, "  still,  I  was  thinking  while  I  was  at  break- 
fast, after  all,  to  the  prince  we  are  the  foreigners. 
There  is  something  in  that,  don't  you  think? 
And  then  the  dear  prince — he  is  so  very  meta- 
physical! ") 

Upon  the  beetling  throne  Olivia  took  her  place, 
and  her  women  sank  about  her  like  tiers  of 
sunset  clouds.  She  was  so  little  and  so  beau- 
tiful and  so  unconsciously  appealing  that  when 
Prince  Tabnit  and  Cassyrus  and  the  rest  of  the 
court  entered,  it  is  doubtful  if  an  eye  left  Olivia, 
to  homage  them.  But  Prince  Tabnit  was  the  last 
to  note  that,  for  he  saw  only  Olivia;  and  the 
world — the  world  was  an  intaglio  of  his  own 
designing. 

With  due  magnificence  the  preliminary  cere- 
monies of  the  coronation  proceeded — ^musty  neces- 
sities, like  oaths  and  historical  truths,  being  mingled 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  343 

with  the  most  delicate  observances,  such  as  the 
naming  of  the  former  princesses  of  the  island ,  from 
Adija,  daughter  of  King  Abibaal,  to  Olivia, 
daughter  of  King  Otho;  and  such  as  counting 
the  clouds  for  the  misfortunes  of  the  regime.  This 
last  duty  fell  to  the  office  of  the  lord  chief -chan- 
cellor, and  from  an  upper  porch  he  returned 
quickening  with  the  intelligence  that  there  was 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky,  a  state  of  the  heavens 
known  to  no  coronation  since  Babylon  was 
ruled  by  Assyrian  viceroys.  The  lord  chief- 
chancellor  and  Cassyrus  themselves  brought 
forth  the  crown — a  beautiful  crown,  shining 
like  dust-in-the-sun — and  Cassyrus,  in  a  voice 
that  trumpeted,  rehearsed  its  history:  how  it  had 
been  made  of  jewels  brought  from  the  coffers 
of  Amasis  and  Apries,  when  King  Nebuchad- 
nezzar wrested  Phoenicia  from  Egypt,  and,  too, 
of  all  manner  of  precious  stones  sent  by  Queen 
Atossa,  wife  of  Darius,  when  the  Crotoniat  Demo- 
cedes,  with  two  triremes  and  a  trading  vessel, 
visited  Yaque  before  they  went  to  survey  Hellenic 
shores,  with  what  disastrous  result.  And  Olivia, 
standing  in  the  queen's  gown,  listened  without 
hearing  one  word,  and  turned  to  have  her  veil 
lifted  by  Antoinette  and  the  daughter  of  a  peer 
of  Yaque;  and  she  knelt  before  the  people  while 
the  lord  chief-chancellor  set  the  crown  on  her 
bright  hair.  It  was  a  picture  that  thrilled  the 
lord  chief-chancellor    himself — who    was    a  wor- 


344  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

shiper  of  beauty,  and  a  man  given  to  angling 
in  the  lagoon  and  making  metric  translations  of 
the  inscriptions. 

Then  it  was  in  the  room  as  if  a  faint  flame 
had  been  breathed  upon  and  had  upleaped 
in  a  thousand  ways  of  expectancy,  and  as  if  a 
secret  sign  had  been  set  in  the  lift  and  dip  of 
the  music — the  music  that  was  so  like  the  great 
chamber  with  its  lift  and  dip  of  carven  line.  The 
thrill  with  which  one  knows  the  glad  news  of  an 
unopened  letter  was  upon  them  all,  and  they 
heard  that  swift  breath  of  an  event  that  stirs 
before  its  coming.  When  Olivia's  women  fell 
back  from  the  dais  with  wonder  and  murmur, 
the  murmur  was  caught  up  in  the  great  hall,  and 
ran  from  tier  to  tier  as  amazement,  as  incredulity, 
and  as  thanksgiving. 

For  there,  beside  the  beetling  throne,  was 
standing  a  man,  slenderly  built,  with  a  youthful, 
sensitive  face  and  critically- drooping  lids,  and 
upon  them  all  his  eyes  were  turned  in  faint 
amusement  warmed  by  an  idle  approbation. 

' '  Perfect — perfect .  Quite  perfect , "  he  was  say- 
ing below  his  breath. 

Olivia  turned.  The  next  moment  she  stood 
with  outstretched  arms  before  her  father;  and 
King  Otho,  in  his  long,  straight  robe,  encrusted 
with  purple  amethysts,  bent  with  exquisite 
courtesy  above  his  daughter's  hands. 

"  My  dear  child,"  he  murmured.  "  the  picture 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  -845 

that  you  make  entirely  justifies  my  existence, 
but  hardly  my  absence.  Shall  we  ask  his  Highness 
to  do  that?  " 

It  mattered  little  who  was  to  do  that  so  long  as 
it  was  done.  For  to  that  people,  steeped  in  dream, 
risen  from  the  crudity  of  mere  events  to  breathe  in 
the  rarer  atmosphere  of  their  significance,  here 
was  a  happening  worthy  their  attention,  for  it  had 
the  dignity  of  mystery.  Even  Mrs.  Medora 
Hastings,  billowing  toward  the  throne  with  cries, 
was  less  poignantly  a  challenge  to  be  heard. 
Upon  her  the  king  laid  a  tranquillizing  hand  and, 
with  a  droop  of  eyelids  in  recognition  of  Mr. 
Frothingham,  he  murmured:  "Ah,  Medora — 
Medora!  Delight  in  the  moment — but  do  not 
embrace  it,"  while  beside  him,  star-eyed,  Olivia 
stood  waiting  for  Prince  Tabnit  to  speak. 

To  Olivia,  trembling  a  little  as  she  leaned 
upon  his  arm,  King  Otho  bent  with  some  word, 
at  which  she  raised  to  his  her  startled  face,  and 
turned  from  him  uncertainly,  and  burned  a 
heavenly  colour  from  brow  to  chin.  Then,  her 
father's  words  being  insistent  in  her  ear,  and  her 
own  heart  being  tumultuous  with  what  he  had 
told  her,  she  turned  as  he  bade  her,  and,  following 
his  glance,  slipped  beneath  a  shining  curtain  that 
cut  from  the  audience  chamber  the  still  seclusion 
of  the  King's  Alcove,  a  chamber  long  sacred  to 
the  sovereigns  of  Yaque. 

Confused   with   her   wonder   and   questioning, 


346  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

hardly  daring  to  understand  the  import  of  her 
father's  words,  Olivia  went  down  a  passage  set 
between  two  high  white  walls  of  the  palace,  open 
to-day  to  the  upper  blue  and  to  the  floating 
pennons  of  the  dome.  Here,  prickly-leaved  plants 
had  shot  to  the  cornices  with  uncouth  contorting 
of  angled  boughs,  and  in  their  inner  green  ruffle- 
feathered  birds  looked  down  on  her  with  the 
uncanny  interest  of  myriapods.  She  caught  about 
her  the  lace  of  her  skirts  and  of  her  floating  veil, 
and  the  way  echoed  musically  to  the  touch  of 
her  little  sandals  and  was  bright  with  the 
shining  of  her  diadem.  And  at  the  end  of  the 
passage  she  lifted  a  swaying  curtain  of  soft  dyes 
and  entered  the  King's  Alcove. 

The  King's  Alcove  laid  upon  one  the  delicate 
demands  of  calm  open  water — for  its  floor  of 
white  transparent  tiles  was  cunningly  traced  with 
the  reflected  course  of  the  carven  roof,  and  one 
seemed  to  look  into  mirrored  depths  of  disappear- 
ing line  between  spaces  shaped  like  petals  and 
like  chevrons.  In  the  King's  Alcove  one  stood 
in  a  world  of  white  and  one's  sight  was  exquisitely 
won,  now  by  a  niche  open  to  a  blue  well  of  sea  and 
space,  now  by  silver  plants  lucent  in  high  case- 
ments. And  there  one  was  spellbound  with  this 
mirroring  of  the  Near  which  thus  became  the 
Remote,  until  one  questioned  gravely  which  was 
"  there  "  and  which  was  "  here,"  for  the  real  was 
extended  into  vision,  and  vision  was  quickened^ 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  347 

to  the  real,  and  nothing  lay  between.  But  to 
Olivia,  entering,  none  of  these  things  was  clearly 
evident,  for  as  the  curtain  of  many  dyes  fell 
behind  her  she  was  aware  of  two  figures — but  the 
one,  with  a  murmured  word  which  she  managed 
somehow  to  answer  without  an  idea  what  she 
said  or  what  it  had  said  either,  vanished  down 
the  way  that  she  had  come.  And  she  stood  there 
face  to  face  with  St.  George. 

He  had  risen  from  a  low  divan  before  a  small 
table  set  with  figs  and  bread  and  a  decanter  of 
what  would  have  been  bordeaux  if  it  had  not 
been  distilled  from  the  vineyards  of  Yaque,  He 
was  very  pale  and  haggard,  and  his  eyes  were 
darkly  circled  and  still  fever-bright.  But  he 
came  toward  her  as  if  he  had  quite  forgotten  that 
this  is  a  world  of  danger  and  that  she  was  a 
princess  and  that,  little  more  than  a  week  ago,  her 
name  was  to  him  the  unknown  music.  He  came 
toward  her  with  a  face  of  unutterable  gladness, 
and  he  caught  and  crushed  her  hands  in  his  and 
looked  into  her  eyes  as  if  he  could  look  to  the 
distant  soul  of  her.  He  led  her  to  a  great 
chair  hewn  from  quarries  of  things  silver  and 
unremembered,  and  he  sat  at  her  feet  upon  a 
bench  that  might  have  been  a  stone  of  the  altar 
of  some  forgotten  deity  of  dreams,  at  last  wor- 
shiped as  it  should  long  have  been  worshiped 
by  all  the  host  that  had  passed  it  by.  He  looked 
j,ip  in  her  face,  and  the  room  was   like   a   place 


'348  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

of  Open  water  where  heaven  is  mirrored  in  earth, 
and  earth  reflects  and  answers  heaven. 

St.  George  laughed  a  little  for  sheer,  inex- 
tinguishable happiness. 

"  Once,"  he  said,  "  once  I  breakfasted  with  you^ 
on  tea  and — if  I  remember  correctly — gold  and 
silver  muffins.  Won't  you  breakfast  with  me 
now?  " 

Olivia  looked  down  at  him,  her  heart  still 
clamourous  with  its  anxiety  of  the  night  and  of 
the  morning. 

"  Tell  me  where  you  can  have  been,"  she  said 
only;  "  didn't  you  know  how  distressed  we  would 
be?     We  imagined  everything — in  this  dreadful 

place.     And  we  feared  everything,  and  we " 

but  yet  the  "  we  "  did  not  deceive  St.  George; 
how  could  it  with  her  eyes,  for  all  their  avoidings, 
so  divinely  upon  him? 

"  Did  you,"  he  said,  "  ah — did  you  wonder? 
I  wish  I  knew!" 

"  And  my  father — ^where  did  you  find  him?  " 
she  besought.  "  It  was  you?  You  found  him,  did 
you  not?  " 

St.  George  looked  down  at  a  fold  of  her  gown 
that  was  fallen  across  his  knee.  How  on  earth 
was  he  ever  to  move,  he  wondered  vaguely,  if 
the  slightest  motion  meant  the  withdrawing  of 
that  fold.  He  looked  at  her  hand,  resting  so 
near,  so  near,  upon  the  arm  of  the  chair;  and 
last  he  looked  again  into  her  face;  and  it  seemed 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  349 

wonderful  and  before  all  things  wonderful,  not 
that  she  should  be  here,  jeweled  and  crowned, 
but  that  he  should  so  unbelievably  be  here  with 
her.  And  yet  it  might  be  but  a  moment,  as  time 
is  measured,  until  this  moment  would  be  swept 
away.     His  eyes  met  hers  and  held  them. 

"  Would  you  mind,"  he  said,  "  now — just  for 
a  little,  while  we  wait  here — not  asking  me  that? 
Not  asking  me  anything?  There  will  be  time 
enough  in  there — when  they  ask  me.  Just  for  now 
I  only  want  to  think  how  wonderful  this  is." 

She  said :  ' '  Yes,  it  is  wonderful — unbelievable," 
but  he  thought  that  she  might  have  meant  the 
white  room  or  her  queen's  robe  or  any  one  of 
all  the  things  which  he  did  not  mean. 

"  /«$•  it  wonderful  to  you?  "  he  asked,  and  he 
said  again:     "  I  wish — I  wish  I  knew!  " 

He  looked  at  her,  sitting  in  the  moon  of 
her  laces  and  the  stars  of  her  gems,  and  the 
sense  of  the  immeasurableness  of  the  hour  came 
upon  him  as  it  comes  to  few;  the  knowledge  that 
the  evanescent  moment  is  very  potent,  the  world 
where  the  siren  light  of  the  Remote  may  at 
any  moment  lie  quenched  in  some  ashen  present. 
To  him,  held  momentarily  in  this  place 
that  was  like  shoreless,  open  water,  the  present 
was  inestimably  precious  and  it  lay  upon  St. 
George  like  the  delicate  claim  of  his  love  itself. 
What  the  next  hour  held  for  them  neither  could 
know,  and  this  universal  uncertainty  was  for  him 


350  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

crystallized  in  an  instant  of  high  wisdom;  over 
the  little  hand  lying  so  perilously  near,  his  own 
closed  suddenly  and  he  crushed  her  fingers  to  his 
lips. 

"  Olivia — dear  heart,"  he  said,  "  we  don't 
know  what  they  may  do — what  will  happen — oh, 
may  I  tell  you  now  ?" 

There  was  no  one  to  say  that  he  might  not, 
for  the  hand  was  not  withdrawn  from  his.  And 
so  he  did  tell  her,  told  her  all  his  heart  as  he  had 
known  his  heart  to  be  that  last  night  on  The 
Aloha,  and  in  that  divine  twilight  of  his  arriving 
on  the  island,  and  in  those  hours  beside  the  airy 
ramparts  of  the  king's  palace,  and  in  the  vigil 
that  followed,  and  always — always,  ever  since  he 
could  remember,  only  that  he  hadn't  known  that 
he  was  waiting  for  her,  and  now  he  knew — now 
he  knew. 

"  Must  you  not  have  known,  up  there  in  the 
palace,"  he  besought  her,  "the  night  that  I  got 
there?  And  yesterday,  all  day  yesterday,  you 
must  have  known — didn't  you  know?  I  love 
you,  Olivia.  I  couldn't  have  told  you,  I  couldn't 
have  let  you  know,  only  now,  when  we  can't 
know  what  may  come  or  what  they  may  do — 
oh,  say  you  forgive  me.  Because  I  love  you — I 
love  you." 

She  rose  swiftly,  her  veil  floating  about  her, 
silver  over  the  gold  of  her  hair;  and  the  light 
caught  the  enchantment  of  the  gems  of  the  strange 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  351 

crown  they  had  set  upon  her  head,  and  she  looked 
down  at  him  in  almost  unearthly  beauty.  He 
stood  before  her,  waiting  for  the  moment 
when  she  should  lift  her  eyes.  And  the  eyes  were 
lifted,  and  he  held  out  his  arms,  and  straight 
to  them,  regardless  of  the  coronation  laces  of 
Queen  Mitygen,  went  Olivia,  Princess  of  Yaque. 
He  put  aside  her  shining  hair,  as  he  had  put  it 
aside  in  that  divine  moment  in  the  motor  in  the 
palace  wood;  and  their  lips  met,  in  that  world 
that  was  like  the  shoreless  open  sea  where 
earth  reflects  heaven,  and  heaven  comes  down. 

They  sat  upon  the  white-cushioned  divan,  and 
St.  George  half  knelt  beside  her  as  he  had  knelt 
that  night  in  the  fleeing  motor,  and  there  were  an 
hundred  things  to  say  and  an  hundred  things  to 
hear.  And  because  this  fragment  of  the  past 
since  they  had  met  was  incontestably  theirs, 
and  because  the  future  hung  trembling  before 
them  in  a  mist  of  doubt,  they  turned  happy, 
hopeful  eyes  to  that  future,  clinging  to  each 
other's  hands.  The  little  chamber  of  translucent 
white,  where  one  looked  down  to  a  mirrored 
dome  and  up  to  a  kind  of  sky,  became  to  them  a 
place  bounded  by  the  touch  and  the  look  and  the 
voice  of  each  other,  as  every  place  in  the 
world  is  bounded  for  every  heart  that  beats. 

"  Sweetheart,"  said  St.  George  presently,  "  do 
you  remember  that  you  are  a  princess,  and  I'm 
merely  a  kind  of  man?  " 


352  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Was  it  not  curious,  he  thought,  that  his  lips 
did  not  speak  a  new  language  of  their  own 
accord? 

"  I  know,"  corrected  Olivia  adorably,  "  that 
I'm  a  kind  of  princess.  But  what  use  is  that  when 
it  only  makes  trouble  for  us?  " 

"  Us  " — "  makes  trouble  for  us."  St.  George 
wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  thought  that 
he  even  guessed  what  happiness  might  be  when 
"  trouble  for  us  "  was  like  this.  He  tried  to  say 
so,  and  then: 

"  But  do  you  know  what  you  are  doing?  "  he 
persisted.  "  Don't  you  see — dear,  don't  you  see 
that  by  loving  me  you  are  giving  up  a  world  that 
you  can  never,  never  get  back?  " 

Olivia  looked  down  at  the  fair  disordered  hair 
on  his  temples.  It  seemed  incredible  that  she 
had  the  right  to  push  it  from  his  forehead.  But 
it  was  not  incredible.  To  prove  it  Olivia 
touched  it  back.  To  prove  that  that  was  not 
incredible,  St.  George  turned  until  his  lips  brushed 
her  wrist. 

"  Don't  you  know,  don't  you,  dear,"  he  pressed 
the  matter,  "  that  very  possibly  these  people  here 
have  really  got  the  secret  that  all  the  rest  of  the 
world  is  talking  about  and  hoping  about  and 
dreaming  they  will  sometime  know?  " 

Olivia  heard  of  this  likelihood  with  delicious 
imperturbability. 

"  I  know  a  secret,"  she  said,  just  above  her 
breath,  "  worth  two  of  that.". 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  353 

"You'll  never  be  sorry — never?  "  he  urged 
wistfully,  resolutely  denying  himself  the  entire 
bliss  of  that  answer. 

"Never,"  said  Olivia,  "never.     Shall  yoa?" 

That  was  exceptionally  easy  to  make  clear,  and 
thereafter  he  whimsically  remembered  something 
else: 

"  You  live  in  the  king's  palace  now,"  he 
reminded  her,  "  and  this  is  another  palace  where 
you  might  live  if  you  chose.  And  you  might  be 
a  queen,  with  drawing-rooms  and  a  poet  laureate 
and  all  the  rest.  And  in  New  York — in  New  York, 
perhaps  we  shall  live  in  a  flat." 

"  No,"  she  cried,  "  no,  indeed!  Not  '  perhaps,' 
I  insist  upon  a  flat."  She  looked  about  the  room 
with  its  bench  brought  from  the  altar  of  a  forgot- 
ten deity  of  dreams,  with  its  line  and  colour  dis- 
solving to  mirrored  point  and  light — the  mystic 
union  of  sight  with  dream — and  she  smiled 
at  the  divine  incongruity  and  the  divine 
resemblance.  "  It  wouldn't  be  so  very  differ- 
ent— a  flat,"  she  said  shyly. 

Wouldn't  it — wouldn't  it,  after  all,  be  so  very 
different? 

"  Ah,  if  you  only  think  so,  really, "  cried 
St.  George. 

"  But  it  will  be  different,  just  different 
enough  to  like  better,"  she  admitted  then.  "  You 
know  that  I  think  so,"  she  said. 

"  If  only  you  knew  how  much  I  think  so," 
he    told    her,    "  how    I    have    thought    so,    day 


354  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and  night,  since  that  first  minute  at  the  Boris. 
Olivia,  dear  heart — when  did  you  think  so 
first " 

She  shook  her  head  and  laid  her  hands  upon  his 
and  drew  them  to  her  face. 

"  Now,  now — now!  "  she  cried,  "  and  there 
never  was  any  time  but  now." 

"  But  there  will  be — there  will  be,"  he  said,  his 
lips  upon  her  hair. 

After  a  time — for  Time,  that  seems  to  have  no 
boundaries  in  the  abstract,  is  a  very  fiend  for 
bounding  the  divine  concrete — after  a  time 
Amory  spoke  hesitatingly  on  the  other  side  of  the 
curtain  of  many  dyes. 

"St.  George,"  he  said,  "I'm  afraid  they  want 
you.  Mr.  Holland — the  king,  he's  got  through 
playing  them.  He  wants  you  to  get  up  and  give 
'em  the  truth,  I  think." 

"Come  in — come  in,  Amory,"  St.  George  said 
and  lifted  the  curtain,  and  "  I  beg  your  pardon," 
he  added,  as  his  eyes  fell  upon  Antoinette  in  a 
gown  of  colours  not  to  be  lightly  denominated. 
She  had  followed  Olivia  from  the  hall,  and  had 
met  Amory  midway  the  avenue  of  prickly  trees, 
and  they  had  helpfully  been  keeping  guard. 
Now  they  went  on  before  to  the  Hall  of 
Kings,  and  St.  George,  remembering  what  must 
happen  there,  turned  to  Olivia  for  one  crowning 
moment. 

"  You  know,"  she  said  fearfully,  "  before  father 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  355 

came  the  prince  intended  the  most  terrible  things 
— to  set  you  and  Mr.  Amory  adrift  in  a  rudderless 
airship " 

St.  George  laughed  in  amusement.  The  poor 
prince  with  his  impossible  devices,  thinking  to 
harm  him,  St.  George — now. 

"  He  meant  to  marry  you,  he  thought,"  he  said, 
"  but,  thank  Heaven,  he  has  your  father  to  answer 
to — and  me!  "  he  ended  jubilantly. 

And  yet,  after  all,  Heaven  knew  what  possi- 
bilities hemmed  them  round.  And  Heaven  knew 
what  she  was  going  to  think  of  him  when  she 
heard  his  story.  He  turned  and  caught  her  to 
him,  for  the  crowning  moment. 

"  You  love  me — you  love  me,"  he  said,  "  no 
matter  what  happens  or  what  they  say — no 
matter  what?  " 

She  met  his  eyes  and,  of  her  own  will,  she  drew 
his  face  down  to  hers. 

"  No  matter  what,"  she  answered.  So  they 
went  together  toward  the  chamber  which  they 
had  both  forgotten. 

When  they  reached  the  Hall  of  Kings  they 
heard  King  Otho's  voice — suave,  mellow,  of 
perfect  enunciation: 

" vSome  one,"  the  king  was  concluding,"  who 

can  tell  this  considerably  better  than  I.  And  it 
seems  to  me  singularly  fitting  that  the  recognition 
of  the  part  eternally  played  by  the  '  possible  ' 
be  temporarily  deferred  while  we    listen    to — I 


356  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

dislike  to  use  the  word,  but  shall  I  say — the 
facts." 

It  seemed  to  St.  George  when  he  stood  beside 
the  dais,  facing  that  strange,  eager  multitude  with 
his  strange  unbelievable  story  upon  his  lips — the 
story  of  the  finding  of  the  king — as  if  his  own 
voice  were  suddenly  a  part  of  all  the  gigantic 
incredibility.  Yet  the  divinely  real  and  the 
fantastic  had  been  of  late  so  fused  in  his  con- 
sciousness that  he  had  come  to  look  upon  both  as 
the  normal — which  is  perhaps  the  only  sane  view. 
But  how  could  he  tell  to  others  the  monstrous 
story  of    last   night,  and    hope    to    be  believed? 

None  the  less,  as  simply  as  if  he  had  been  nar- 
rating to  Chillingworth  the  high  moment  of  a 
political  convention,  St.  George  told  the  people 
of  Yaque  what  had  happened  in  that  night  in 
the  room  of  the  tombs  with  that  mad  old  Malakh 
whom  they  all  remembered.  It  came  to  him  as 
he  spoke  that  it  was  quite  like  telling  to  a  field 
of  flowers  the  real  truth  about  the  wind  of  which 
they  might  be  supposed  to  know  far  more  than 
he;  and  yet,  if  any  one  were  to  tell  the  truth 
about  the  wind  who  would  know  how  to  listen? 
He  was  not  amazed  that,  when  he  had  done,  the 
people  of  Yaque  sat  in  a  profound  silence  which 
might  have  been  the  silence  of  innocent  amaze- 
ment or  of  utter  incredulity. 

But  there  was  no  mistaking  the  face  of  Prince 
Xabnit.     Its  cool  tolerant  amusement  suddenly 


IN  THE  HALL  OE  KINGS  857 

sent  the  blood  pricking  to  St,  George's  heart  and 
filled  him  with  a  kind  of  madness.  What  he 
did  was  the  last  thing  that  he  had  intended.  He 
turned  upon  the  prince,  and  his  voice  went  cutting 
to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  hall : 

"  Men  and  women  of  Yaque,"  he  cried,  "  I 
accuse  your  prince  of  the  knowledge  that  can  take 
from  and  add  to  the  years  of  man  at  will.  I 
accuse  him  of  the  deliberate  and  criminal  use  of 
that  knowledge  to  take  King  Otho  from  his 
throne!" 

St.  George  hardly  knew  what  effect  his  words 
had.  He  saw  only  Olivia,  her  hands  locked, 
her  lips  parted,  looking  in  his  face  in  anguish; 
and  he  saw  Prince  Tabnit  smile.  Prince  Tabnit 
sat  upon  the  king's  left  hand,  and  he  leaned  and 
whispered  a  smiling  word  in  the  ear  of  his  sovereign 
and  turned  a  smiling  face  to  Olivia  upon  her 
father's  right. 

"  I  know  something  of  your  American  news- 
papers, your  Majesty,"  the  prince  said  aloud, 
"  and  these  men  are  doing  their  part  excellently, 
excellently." 

' '  What  do  you  mean,  your  Highness? ' '  demanded 
St.  George  curtly. 

"  But  is  it  not  simple?  "  asked  the  prince,  still 
smiling.  ' '  You  have  contrived  a  sensation  for  the 
great  American  newspaper.     No  one  can  doubt." 

King  Otho  leaned  back  in  the  beetling  throne. 

"  Ah,  yes,"  he  said,  "it  is  true.       Something 


358  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

has  been  contrived.  But — ^is  the  sensation  of 
his  contriving,  Prince?  " 

OHvia  stood  silent.  It  was  not  possible,  it  was 
not  possible,  she  said  over  mechanically.  For 
St.  George  to  have  come  with  this  story  of  a 
potion — a  drug  that  had  restored  youth  to  her 
father,  had  transformed  him  from  that  mad  old 
Malakh 

"  Father!  "  she  cried  appealingly,  "  don't  you 
remember — don't  you  know?  " 

King  Otho,  watching  the  prince,  shook  his  head, 
smiling. 

"  At  dawn,"  he  said,  "  there  are  few  of  us  to 
be  found  remaining  still  at  table  with  Socrates. 
I  seem  not  to  have  been  of  that  number." 

"  Olivia!  "  cried  St.  George  suddenly. 

She  met  his  eyes  for  a  moment,  the  eyes  that 
had  read  her  own,  that  had  given  message  for 
message,  that  had  seen  with  her  the  glory  of  a 
mystic  morning  willingly  relinquished  for  a  diviner 
dawn.  Was  she  not  princess  here  in  Yaque? 
She  laid  her  hand  upon  her  father's  hand;  the 
crown  that  they  had  given  her  glittered  as  she 
turned  toward  the  multitude. 

"  My  people,"  she  said  ringingly,  "  I  believe 
that  that  man  speaks  the  truth.  Shall  the  prince 
not  answer  to  this  charge  before  the  High  Council 
now — here — ^before  you  all?  " 

At  this  King  Otho  did  something  nearly  per- 
ceptible with  his  eyebrows.       "  Perfect.     Perfect. 


IN  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  359 

Quite  perfect,"  he  said  below  his  breath.  The 
next  instant  the  eyelids  of  the  sovereign  drooped 
cons'derably  less  than  one  would  have  supposed 
possible.  For  from  every  part  of  the  great 
chamber,  as  if  a  storm  long-pent  had  forced  the 
walls  of  the  wind,  there  came  in  a  thou- 
sand murmurs — soft,  tremulous,  definitive — ^the 
answering  voice  to  Olivia's  question: 
"  Yes.     Yes.     Yes  .  .  .  " 


CHAPTER  XX 

OUT    OF  THE   HAIvI.  OF    KINGS 

In  Prince  Tabnit's  face  there  was  a  curious 
change,  as  if  one  were  suddenly  to  see  hieroglyphics 
upon  a  star  where  before  there  had  been  only 
shining.  But  his  calm  and  his  magnificent  way 
of  authority  did  not  desert  him,  as  so  grotesque 
a  star  would  still  stand  lonely  and  high  in  the 
heavens.  He  spoke,  and  upon  the  multitude  fell 
instant  silence,  not  the  less  absolute  that  it  har- 
boured foreboding. 

"  Whatever  the  people  would  say  to  me,"  said 
the  prince  simply,  "  I  will  hear.  My  right  hand 
rests  in  the  hand  of  the  people.  In  return  I 
decree  allegiance  to  the  law.  Your  princess 
stands  before  you,  crowned.  This  most  fortunate 
return  of  his  Majesty,  the  King,  can  not  set  at 
naught  the  sacred  oath  which  has  just  left  her 
lips.  Henceforth,  in  council  and  in  audience,  her 
place  shall  be  at  his  Majesty's  right  hand,  as 
was  the  place  of  that  Princess  Athalme,  daughter 
of  King  Kab,  in  the  dynasty  of  the  fall  of  Rome. 
Is  it  not,  therefore,  but  the  more  incumbent  upon 

360 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  361 

your  princess  to  own  her  allegiance  to  the  law 
of  the  island  by  keeping  her  troth  with  me — that 
troth  witnessed  and  sanctioned  by  you  yourselves  ? 
This  ceremony  concluded  I  will  answer  the 
demands  of  the  loyal  subjects  whose  interests 
alone  I  serve.  For  we  obey  that  which  is  higher 
than  authority — the  law,  bom  in  the  Begin- 
ning  " 

Prince  Tabnit's  voice  might  almost  have  taken 
his  place  in  his  absence,  it  was  so  soft,  so  fine  of 
texture,  no  more  consciously  modulated  than  is 
the  going  of  water  or  the  way  of  a  wing.  It  was 
difficult  to  say  whether  his  words  or,  so  to  say, 
their  fine  fabric  of  voice,  begot  the  silence 
that  followed.  But  all  eyes  were  turned  upon 
Olivia.  And,  Prince  Tabnit  noting  this,  before 
she  might  speak  he  suddenly  swept  his  flowing 
robes  embroidered  by  a  thousand  needles  to  a 
posture  of  humility  before  his  sovereign. 

"  Your  Majesty,"  he  besought,  "  I  pray  your 
consent  to  the  bestowal  upon  my  most  unworthy 
self  of  the  hand  of  your  daughter,  the  Princess 
Olivia." 

King  Otho  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  his  carven 
throne.  Against  its  strange  metal  his  hand  was 
cameo -clear. 

"  For  the  king,"  he  was  remembering  softly, 
"  'the  Pyrenees,  or  so  he  fancied,  ceased  to  exist.' 
For  another  '  the  mountains  of  Daphne  are  every- 
Vvhere.'       Each  of  us  has  his  impossible  dreary 


362  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

to  prove  that  he  is  an  impossible  creature.  Why 
not  I?  To  be  normal  is  the  cry  of  all  the  hob- 
goblins .  .  .  And  what  does  the  princess  say?  " 
he  asked  aloud. 

' '  Her  Highness  has  already  given  me  the  great 
happiness  to  plight  me  her  troth,"  said  Prince 
Tabnit. 

King  Otho's  eyebrows  flickered  from  their 
parallel  of  repose. 

"  In  Yaque  or  in  America,"  he  murmured,  "the 
Americans  do  as  the  Americans  do.  None  of 
us  is  mentioned  in  Deuteronomy,  but  what  is 
the  will  of  the  princess?"  the  American  Sover- 
eign asked. 

Mrs.  Hastings,  seated  near  the  dais,  heard;  and 
as  she  turned,  a  rhinestone  side-comb  slipped  from 
her  hair,  tinkled  over  the  jewels  of  her  corsage 
and  shot  into  the  lap  of  a  member  of  the  High 
Council.  He,  never  having  seen  a  side-comb, 
fancied  that  it  might  be  an  infernal  machine 
which  he  had  never  seen  either,  and,  palpitating, 
flashed  it  to  the  guardian  hand  of  Mr.  Frothingham. 
At  the  same  moment : 

"  Ah,  why,  Otho,"  said  Mrs.  Hastings  audibly, 
"  we  had  two  ancestors  at  Bannockburn!  " 

"  Bannockburn!  "  argued  Mr.  Augustus  Froth- 
ingham, below  the  voice,  "Bannockburn.  But 
what,  my  dear  Mrs.  Hastings,  is  Bannockburn 
beside  the  Midianites  and  the  Moabites  and  the 
Hittites  and  the  Ammonites  and  the  Levites?  " 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OP  KINGS  m'S 

In  this  genealogical  moment  the  prince  leaned 
toward  Olivia. 

"  Choose,"  he  said  significantly,  but  so  softly 
that  none  might  hear,  "oh,  my  beloved, 
choose!" 

The  faces  of  the  great  assembly  blurred  and 
wavered  before  Olivia,  and  the  low  hum  of  the 
talk  in  the  room  was  relative,  like  the  voices  of 
passers-by.  She  looked  up  at  the  prince  and 
away  from  him  in  mute  appeal  to  something  that 
ought  to  help  her  and  would  not.  For  Olivia  was 
of  those  who,  never  having  seen  the  face  of  Destiny 
very  near,  are  accustomed  to  look  upon  nothing 
as  wholly  irrevocable ;  and — for  one  of  her  graces — 
she  had  the  feminine  expectation  that,  if  only 
events  can  be  sufficiently  postponed,  something 
will  intervene;  which  is  perhaps  a  heritage  of  the 
gentlest  women  descended  from  Homeric  days. 
If  the  island  was  so  historic,  little  Olivia  may  have 
said,  where  was  the  interfering  goddess?  She 
looked  unseeingly  toward  St.  George  and  toward 
her  father,  and  the  sense  of  the  bitter  actuality  of 
the  choice  suddenly  wounded  her,  as  the  Actual 
for  ever  wounds  the  woman  and  the  dream. 

Then  suddenly,  above  the  stir  of  expectation  of 
the  people,  and  the  associate  bustling  of  the  High 
Council  there  came  a  vague  confusion  and  tramp- 
ling from  outside,  and  the  far  outer  doors  of  the 
hall  were  thrown  open  with  a  jar  and  a  breath, 
vibrant   as   a   murmur.     There   was   a   cry,   the 


364  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

determined  resistance  of  some  of  the  Golden 
Guard,  and  shouts  of  expostulation  and  warning 
as  they  were  flung  aside  by  a  powerful  arm. 
In  the  disorder  that  followed,  a  miraculously- 
familiar  figure — that  familiarity  and  strangeness 
are  both  miracles  ought  to  explain  certain  mys- 
teries—was beside  St.  George  and  a  thankful 
voice  said  in  his  ear: 

"  Mr.  St.  George,  sir,  for  the  mercy  of  Heaven, 
sir — come  back  to  the  yacht.  No  person  can  tell 
what  may  happen  ten  minutes  ahead,  sir!  ^' 

The  oracle  of  this  universal  truth  was 
Rollo,  palpitating,  his  immaculate  coat  stained 
with  earth,  earth-stains  on  his  cheeks,  and  his 
breast  labouring  in  an  excitement  which  only 
anxiety  for  his  master  could  effect.  But 
St.  George  hardly  saw  him.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
on  some  one  who  stood  towering  before  the  dais, 
like  the  old  prints  of  the  avenging  goddesses. 
Clad  in  the  hideous  stripes  which  boards  of  direc- 
tors consider  de  rigueur  for  the  soul  that  is  to  be 
won  back  to  the  normal,  stood  the  woman  Elissa, 
who,  by  all  counts  of  Prince  Tabnit,  should  have 
been  singing  a  hymn  with  Mrs.  Manners  and 
Miss  Bella  Bliss  Utter  in  the  Bitley  Reform- 
atory, in  Westchester  County,  New  York. 

"  Stop!  "  she  cried  in  that  perfect  English  which 
is  not  only  a  rare  experience  but  a  pleasant 
adventure,  "  what  new  horror  is  this?  " 

To  Prince  Tabnit 's  face,  as  he  looked  at  her, 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  365 

came  once  more  that  indefinable  change — only  this 
time  nearer  and  more  intimately  explainable, 
as  if  something  ethereal,  trained  to  delicate  lines, 
like  smoke,  should  suddenly  shape  itself  to  a 
menace.  St.  George  saw  the  woman  step  close  to 
the  dais,  he  saw  Olivia's  eyes  questioning  him,  and 
in  the  hurried  rising  of  the  peers  and  of  the  High 
Council  he  heard  Rollo's  voice  in  his  ear: 

"It's  a  gr'it  go,  sir,"  observed  Rollo  respect- 
fully, "  the  woman  has  things  to  tell,  sir,  as 
people  generally  don't  know.  She's  flew  the 
coop  at  the  place  she  was  in — it  seems  she's  been 
shut  up  some'eres  in  America,  sir;  an'  she  got  'old 
of  the  capting  of  a  tramp  boat  o'  some  kind — one 
o'  them  boats  as  smells  intoxicating  round  the 
'atches — an'  she  give  'im  an'  the  mate  a  'andful 
o'  jewelry  that  she'd  on  'er  when  she  was  took  in 
an'  'ad  some  ways  contrived  to  'ang  on  to,  an'  I'm 
blessed  hif  she  wasn't  able  fer  to  steer  fer  the 
island,  sir — we  took  'er  aboard  the  yacht  only  this 
mornin'  with  'er  'air  down  her  back,  an'  we've 
brought  'er  on  here.  An'  she  says — men  can 
be  gr'it  beasts,  sir,  an'  no  manner  o'  mistake," 
concluded  Rollo  fervently. 

And  a  little  hoarse  voice  said  in  St.  George's 
ear: 

"  Mr.  St.  George,  sir — we  ain't  late,  are  we? 
We  been  flirtin'  de  ger-avel  up  dat  ka-liff  since 
de  car-rack  o'  day." 

And  there   was   Bennietod,  with   an   edge   of 


366  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

an  old  horse  pistol  showing  beneath  his  cuff; 
and,  round-eyed  and  alert  as  a  bird  newly  alighted 
on  a  stranger  sill,  Little  Cawthorne  stood;  and  the 
sight  put  strength  into  St.  George,  and  so  did 
Little  Cawthorne 's  words : 

"  I  didn't  know  whether  they'd  let  us  in  or  not," 
he  said,  "  unless  we  had  on  a  plaited  d^collette^ 
with  biases  down  the  back. ' ' 

Clearly  and  confidently  in  the  silent  room  rang 
the  voice  of  the  woman  confronting  Prince  Tabnit, 
and  her  eyes  did  not  leave  his  face.  St.  George 
was  struck  with  the  change  in  her  since  that  day 
in  the  Reformatory  chapel.  Then  she  had  been 
like  a  wild,  alien  thing  in  dumb  distress;  now  she 
was  unchained  and  native.  Her  first  words 
explained  why,  in  the  extreme  dilemma  in  which 
St.  George  had  last  seen  her,  she  had  yet  remained 
mute. 

"  I  release  myself,"  she  cried,  "  from  my  oath 
of  silence,  though  until  to-day  I  have  spoken  only 
to  those  who  helped  me  to  come  back  to  you — 
my  master.  Have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me? 
Has  the  time  seemed  long?  Is  it  a  weary  while 
since  I  left  you  to  do  your  will  and  murder  the 
woman  whom  you  were  now  about  to  make  your 
wife?  " 

A  cry  of  horror  rose  from  the  people,  and  then 
stillness  came  again. 

"  Take  the  woman  away,"  said  Prince  Tabnit 
only,  "  she  is  speaking  madness." 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OB  KINGS  367 

"  I  am  speaking  the  truth,"  said  the  woman 
clearly.  '*  I  was  of  Melita — there  are  those  here 
who  will  know  my  face.  And  it  is  not  I  alone 
who  have  served  the  State.  I  challenge  you, 
Tabnit — ^here,  before  them  all !  Where  are  Gerya 
and  Ibera,  Cabulla  and  Taura?  Have  not  their 
people,  weeping,  besought  news  of  them  in  vain? 
And  what  answer  have  you  given  them?  " 

Murmurs  and  sobs  rose  from  the  assembly, 
stilled  by  the  tranquil  voice  of  the  prince. 

"  Where  are  they?  "  he  repeated  gently,  his 
voice  vibrant  in  its  rise  and  fall,  its  giving  of 
delicate  values.  "  But  the  people  know  where 
they  are.  They  have  attained  to  the  perfect  life 
and  died  the  perfect  death.  For  I  have  raised 
them  to  the  supreme  estate." 

Prince  Tabnit,  with  uplifted  face,  sat  motion- 
less, looking  out  over  the  throng  from  beneath 
lowered  lids;  then  his  eyes,  confident  and  a  little 
mocking,  returned  to  the  woman.  But  they  had 
for  her  no  terror.  She  turned  from  him,  con- 
fronting the  pale,  eager  faces  of  the  people;  and 
in  her  beauty  and  distinction  she  was  like  Olivia's 
women,  crowded  beside  the  dais. 

"  Men  and  women  of  Yaque,"  cried  Elissa, 
"  I  will  tell  you  to  what  '  supreme  estate  '  these 
friends  whom  you  seek  have  long  been  raised. 
For  here  in  Med  and  in  Melita  yoU  will  find  many 
of  those  whom  you  have  mourned  as  dead — 
you  will  find  them  as  you  yourselves  have  met 


368  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

and  passed  them,  it  may  have  been  countless 
times,  on  your  streets  of  Yaque — not  young  and 
beautiful  as  when  they  left  you,  but  men  and 
women  of  incredible  age.  Withered,  shaken  by 
palsy,  infirm,  they  creep  upon  their  lonely 
ways  or  go  at  will  to  drag  themselves  unrecog- 
nized along  your  highways,  as  helpless  as  the 
dead  themselves.  They  number  scores,  and  they 
are  those  who  have  displeased  your  prince  by 
some  little  word,  some  little  wrong,  or,  more  than 
these,  by  some  thwarting  of  the  way  of  his  ambi- 
tion: Oblo,  who  disappeared  from  his  place  as 
keeper  at  the  door;  Ithobal,  satrap  of  Melita; 
young  Prince  Kaal — ay,  and  how  many  more? 
You  do  not  understand  my  words?  I  say  that 
your  prince  has  knowledge  of  some  secret, 
accursed  drug  that  can  call  back  youth  or 
make  actual  age — age,  do  you  understand — ^just 
as  we  of  Yaque  bring  both  flowers  and  fruit 
to  swift  maturity!" 

Olivia  uttered  a  little  cry,  not  at  the  grotesque 
horror  of  what  the  woman  had  said  but  at  the 
miracle  of  its  unconscious  support  of  the  story 
and  theory  of  St.  George.  And  St.  George  heard; 
and  suddenly,  because  another  had  voiced  his 
own  fantastic  message,  its  incredibility  and 
unreality  became  appalling,  and  yet  he  felt 
infinitely  reconciled  to  both  because  he  interpreted 
aright  that  little  muffled  exclamation  from  Olivia. 
What    did   it   matter — oh,    what    did   it    matter 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  369 

whether  or  not  the  reality  were  grotesque? 
What  seems  to  be  happening  is  always  the  reality, 
if  only  one  understands  it  sufficiently.  And  at 
all  events  there  had  been  that  hour  in  the 
King's  Alcove.  At  last,  as  he  weighed  that  hour 
against  the  fantasy  of  all  the  rest,  St.  George 
understood  and  lived  the  divine  madness  of  all 
great  moments,  the  madness  that  realizes  one 
star  and  is  content  that  all  the  heavens  shall 
march  unintelligibly  past  so  long  as  that  single 
shining  is  not  dimmed. 

But  King  Otho  was  riding  no  such  grifhn  with 
sun-gold  wings.  King  Otho  was  genuinely  and 
personally  interested  in  the  woman's  words.  He 
turned  to  Prince  Tabnit  with  animation. 

"  Really,  Prince,"  he  said,  "  is  it  so?  Pray 
do  not  deny  it  unless  there  is  no  other  way,  for 
I  am  before  all  things  interested.  It  is  far  more 
important  to  me  that  you  tell  me  as  much  as  you 
can  tell,  than  that  you  deny  or  even  disprove  it." 

Prince  Tabnit  smiled  in  the  eagerly  interested 
face  of  his  sovereign,  and  rose  and  came  to  the 
edge  of  the  dais,  his  garments  embroidered  by  a 
thousand  needles  touching  and  floating  about  him ; 
and  it  was  as  if  he  reached  those  before  him  by 
a  kind  of  spiritual  magnetism,  not  without  sub- 
limity. 

"  My  people,"  he  said — and  his  voice  had  all 
the  tenderness  that  they  knew  so  well — "  this  is 
some  conspiracy  of  those  to  whom  we  have  shown 


370  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  utmost  hospitality.  I  would  have  shielded 
your  king,  for  he  was  also  my  sovereign  and  I 
owed  him  allegiance.  But  now  that  is  no 
longer  possible,  and  the  time  is  come.  Know 
then,  oh  my  people  of  Yaque,  that  which  my 
loyalty  has  led  me  wrongfully  to  conceal:  that 
in  the  strange  disappearance  and  return  of  your 
sovereign,  King  Otho,  he  who  will  may  trace  the 
loss  of  that  which  the  island  has  mourned  with- 
out ceasing.  I  accuse  your  king — he  is  no  longer 
mine — of  being  now  in  possession  of  the  Hereditary 
Treasure  of  Yaque." 

Then  St.  George  came  back  with  a  thrill  to 
actuality.  In  the  press  of  the  events  of  this 
morning,  after  his  awakening  in  the  room  of  the 
tombs,  he  had  completely  forgotten  the  soft  fire 
of  gems  that  had  burned  beneath  the  hands  of 
old  Malakh  in  that  dark  chamber  under  King 
Abibaal's  tomb.  He  and  Amory  and  Jarvo  had, 
with  the  king,  left  the  chamber  by  the  upper 
passages,  and  Amory  and  Jarvo  knew  nothing  of 
the  jewels.  Yet  St.  George  was  certain  that  he 
could  not  have  been  mistaken,  and  he  listened 
breathlessly  for  what  the  king  would  say. 

King  Otho,  with  a  smile,  nodded  in  perfect 
imperturbability. 

"  That  is  true,"  he  said,  *'  I  had  forgotten  all 
about  it." 

They  waited  for  him  to  speak,  the  people  in 
amazed   silence,   Mrs.    Medora   Hastings   saying 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  lUNGS  371 

unintelligible  things  in  whispers,   for  which  she 
had  a  genius. 

"  It  is  true,"  said  King  Otho,  "  that  I  am 
responsible  for  the  disappearance  of  the  Hered- 
itary Treasure.  You  will  find  it  at  this  moment 
in  a  basement  dungeon  of  the  palace  on  Mount 
Khalak.  On  the  very  day,  three  months  ago, 
that  I  dined  with  your  prince  I  had  made  a  dis- 
covery of  considerable  importance  to  me,  namely, 
that  the  little  island  of  Yaque  is  richer  in  most 
of  the  radio-active  substances  than  all  the  rest 
of  the  world.  The  discovery  gave  me  keener 
pleasure  than  I  had  known  in  years — I  had  sus- 
pected it  for  some  time  after  I  found  the  nocti- 
lucous stars  on  the  ceiling  of  my  sitting-room  at 
the  palace.  And  in  the  work-shop  of  the  Princess 
Simyra  I  came  upon  a  quantity  of  metallic  uran- 
ium, and  a  great  many  other  things  which  I 
question  the  taste  of  taking  the  time  to  describe. 
But  my  experiments  there  with  the  very  perfect 
gems  of  your  admirable  collection  had  evidently 
been  antedated  by  some  of  your  own  people,  for 
the  apparatus  was  intact.  I  shall  be  glad  to 
show  some  charming  effects  to  any  one  who  cares 
to  see  them.  I  have  succeeded  in  causing  the 
diamonds  of  Darius  to  phosphoresce  most  won- 
derfully." 

The  phosphorescence  of  the  diamonds  of  Darius 
was  to  the  people  far  less  important  than  the 
joyous  fact  which  they  were  not  slow  to  grasp, 


372  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

that  the  Hereditary  Treasure  was,  if  they  might 
beUeve  the  king's  words,  restored  to  them,  and 
the  burden  of  the  tax  averted.  They  did  not 
understand,  nor  did  they  seek  to  understand; 
because  they  knew  the  inefficiency  of  details  and 
they  also  knew  the  value  of  mere  import. 

But  the  king,  child  of  a  social  order  that  wreaks 
itself  on  particularizations,  returned  to  his  quest 
for  a  certain  recounting. 

"  Prince  Tabnit,"  he  said,  "  the  High  Council 
and  the  people  of  Yaque  are  impatient  for  your 
answer  to  this  woman's  words." 

"  I  rejoice  with  them  and  with  your  Majesty," 
replied  Prince  Tabnit  softly,  "  that  the  treasure 
is  safe.  My  own  explanation  is  far  less  simple. 
If  what  this  woman  says  is  true,  yet  it  is  true  in 
such  wise  as,  strive  as  I  may,  I  can  not  speak; 
nor,  strive  as  you  may,  can  you  fathom.  There- 
fore I  say  that  the  claim  which  she  has  made  is 
idle,  and  not  within  my  power  to  answer." 

At  this  St.  George  bounded  to  his  feet.  Amory 
looked  up  at  him  in  terror,  and  Little  Cawthome 
and  Bennietod  went  a  step  or  two  after  him 
as  he  sprang  forward,  and  RoUo's  lean  shadowed 
face,  obvious  as  his  way  of  speech,  was  wrinkled 
in  terrified  appeal. 

"  An  idle  claim!  "  St.  George  thundered  as  he 
strode  before  the  dais.  "  Is  this  woman's  story  and 
mine  an  idle  claim,  and  one  not  within  your 
power  to  answer?     Then  I  will  tell  you  how  to 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  373 

answer,  Prince  Tabnit.     I  challenge  you  now,  in 
the  presence  of  your  people — taste  this!  " 

Upon  the  carven  arm  of  Prince  Tabnit 's  throne 
St.  George  set  something  that  he  had  taken  from 
his  pocket.  It  was  the  vase  of  rock-crystal  from 
which,  the  night  before  in  the  room  of  the  tombs, 
the  king  had  drunk. 

What  followed  was  the  last  thing  that  St. George 
had  expected.  It  was  as  if  his  defiance  had 
unlocked  flood-gates.  In  an  instant  the  vast 
assembly  was  in  motion.  With  a  sound  of  gar- 
ments that  was  like  far  wind  they  were  upon  their 
feet  and  pressing  toward  the  throne.  With  all 
the  passion  of  their  "  Yes!  Yes!  Yes!  "  in  response 
to  Olivia's  appeal  they  came,  resistlessly  demand- 
ing the  answer  to  some  dreadful  question  long 
shrouded  in  their  hearts.  Their  armour  was 
their  silence;  they  made  no  sound  save  that 
ominous  sweep  of  their  robes  and  the  conspiracy 
of  their  sandaled  feet  upon  the  tiles. 

St.  George  did  not  turn.  Indeed,  it  did  not 
once  cross  his  mind  that  their  hostility  could 
possibly  be  toward  him.  Besides,  his  look  was 
fixed  upon  the  prince's  face,  and  what  he  read 
there  was  enough.  The  peers,  the  High  Council 
and  those  nearest  the  throne  wavered  and  swerved 
from  the  man,  leaving  him  to  face  what  was  to 
come. 

Whatever  was  to  come  he  would  have  met 
nobly.     He  was  of  those  infrequent  folk  of  some 


374  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

Upper  air  who  exhibit  a  certain  purity  even  in 
error,  or  in  worse.  He  stood  with  his  exquisite 
pale  face  upHfted,  his  white  hair  in  a  glory  about 
it,  his  white  gown  embroidered  by  a  thousand 
needles  falling  in  virginal  lines  against  the  warm, 
pure  colour  of  that  room  with  its  wraiths  of  hue 
and  light.  And  he  opened  the  heart  of  the  green 
jewel  that  burned  upon  his  breast. 

"  Not  for  me  the  wineof  youth,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  but  the  poison  of  age.  The  poison  which, 
without  me  to  unlock  the  secret,  all  mankind  must 
drink  alone.  May  you  drink  it  late,  my  friends!  " 
he  cried.  "I,  who  hold  in  my  soul  the  secret  of  the 
passing  of  time  and  youth,  drink  now  to  those 
among  you  and  among  all  men  who  have  won 
and  kept  the  one  thing  dearer  than  these." 

He  touched  the  green  gem  to  his  lips,  and  let 
it  fall  upon  the  embroidered  laces  on  his  breast. 
Then  quietly  and  in  another  voice  he  began 
to  speak. 

With  the  first  words  there  came  to  St,  George 
the  thrill  of  something  that  had  possessed  him — 
when?  In  that  ecstatic  moment  on  The  Aloha 
when  he  had  seen  the  light  in  the  king's  palace; 
in  the  instant  when  the  Isle  of  Yaque  had  first 
lain  subject  before  him,  "  a  land  which  no  one  can 
define  or  remember — only  desire;  "  in  the  divine 
time  of  his  triumph  in  having  scaled  the 
heights  to  the  palace,  that  sky-thing,  with 
ramparts    of    air;    above    all,    in    the    hour    of 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  375 

his  joy  in  the  King's  Alcove,  when  Olivia  had 
looked  in  his  eyes  and  touched  his  lips.  Inex- 
plicably as  the  way  that  eternity  lies  barely 
unrevealed  in  some  kin-thing  of  its  own — a  shell, 
a  duty,  a  vista — he  suddenly  felt  it  now  in 
what  the  prince  was  saying.  He  listened,  and 
for  one  poignant  stab  of  time  he  knew  that  he 
touched  hands  with  the  elemental  and  saw  the 
ancient  kindliness  of  all  those  people  naked  in 
their  faces  and  knew  himself  for  what  he  was. 

He  listened,  and  yet  there  was  no  making  cap- 
tive the  words  of  the  prince  in  understanding. 
Prince  Tabnit  was  speaking  the  English,  and 
every  word  was  clearly  audible  and,  moreover,  was 
probably  daily  upon  St.  George's  lips.  But  if  it 
had  been  to  ransom  the  rest  of  the  world  from 
its  night  he  could  not  have  understood  what  the 
prince  was  saying.  Every  word  was  a  word  that 
belonged  as  much  to  St.  George  as  to  the  prince ; 
but  in  some  unfathomable  fashion  the  inner  sense 
of  what  he  said  for  ever  eluded,  dissolving  in  the 
air  of  which  it  was  a  part.  And  yet,  past  all 
doubting,  St.  George  knew  that  he  was  hearing  the 
essence  of  that  strange  knowledge  which  the  Isle 
of  Yaque  had  won  while  all  the, rest  of  mankind 
struggled  for  it — he  knew  with  the  certainty  with 
which  we  recognize  strange  forces  in  a  dozen  of 
the  every-day  things  of  life,  in  electricity,  in 
telepathy,  in  dreams.  With  the  same  certainty  he 
realized  that  what  the  prince  was  saying  would, 


376  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

if  he  could  understand,  lift  a  certain  veil. 
Here,  put  in  words  at  last,  was  manifestly  the 
secret,  that  catch  of  understanding  without 
which  men  are  groping  in  the  dark,  perhaps  that 
mere  pointing  of  relations  which  would  make 
clear,  without  blasphemy,  time  and  the  future, 
rebirth  and  old  existence,  it  might  be;  and  cer- 
tainly the  accident  of  personality.  Here,  crystal- 
lized, were  the  things  that  men  almost  know,  the 
dream  that  has  just  escaped  every  one,  the  whisper 
in  sleep  that  would  have  explained  if  one 
could  remember  when  one  woke,  the  word  that 
has  been  thrillingly  flashed  to  one  in  moments  of 
absorption  and  has  fled  before  one  might  catch 
the  sound,  the  far  hope  of  science,  the  glimpse 
that  comes  to  dying  eyes  and  is  voiced  in 
fragments  by  dying  lips.  Here  without  penetrat- 
ing the  great  reserve  or  tracing  any  principle  to 
its  beginning,  was  the  truth  about  both.  And  St. 
George  was  powerless  to  receive  it. 

He  turned  fearfully  to  Olivia.  Ah — what  if 
she  did  not  guess  anything  of  the  meaning  of 
what  she  was  hearing?  For  one  instant  he  knew 
all  the  misery  of  one  whose  friend  stands  on 
another  star.  But  when  he  saw  her  uplifted  face, 
her  eager  eyes  and  quick  breath  and  her  look 
divinely  questioning  his,  he  was  certain  that 
though  she  might  not  read  the  figures  of  the 
veil,  yet  she  too  knew  how  near,  how  near  they 
stood;    and   to   be    with   her   on   this   side    was 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  377 

dearer — nay,  was  nearer  the  Secret — than  without 
her  to  pass  the  veil  that  they  touched.  Then  he 
looked  at  Amory ;  wouldn't  old  Amory  know,  he 
wondered.  Wouldn't  his  mere  understanding  of 
news  teach  him  what  was  happening?  But  old 
Amory,  the  light  flashing  on  his  pince-nez,  was 
keeping  one  eye  on  the  prince  and  wondering 
if  the  chair  that  he  had  just  placed  for  Antoinette 
was  not  in  the  draught  of  the  dome;  and  little 
Antoinette  was  looking  about  her  like  a  rosebud, 
new  to  the  butterflies  of  June;  and  King  Otho 
was  listening,  languid,  heavy-lidded,  sensitive  to 
little  values,  sophisticating  the  moment;  and 
Little  Cawthome  stood  with  eyes  raised  in  simple, 
tolerant  wonder;  and  the  others,  Bennietod,  Mrs. 
Hastings  and  Mr.  Augustus  Frothingham,  showed 
faces  like  the  pools  in  which  pebbles  might  be 
dropped,  making  no  ripples — one  must  suppose 
that  there  are  such  pools,  since  there  are  certainly 
such  faces.  St.  George  saw  how  it  was.  Here, 
spoken  casually  by  the  prince,  just  as  the  Banal 
would  speak  of  the  visible  and  invisible  worlds, 
here  was  the  Sesame  of  understanding  toward 
which  the  centuries  had  striven,  the  secret  of  the 
link  between  two  worlds;  and  here,  of  all  man- 
kind, were  only  they  two  to  hear — they  two  and 
that  motionless  company  who  knew  what  the 
prince  knew  and  who  kept  it  sealed  within  their 
eyes. 

St.  George   looked  at   the  multitude   in  swift 


378  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

understanding.  They  were  like  a  Greek  chorus, 
signifying  what  is.  They  knew  what  the  prince 
was  saying,  they  had  the  secret  and  yet — they 
were  no  nearer,  no  nearer  than  he.  With  their 
ancient  kindliness  naked  in  their  faces,  St. 
George  knew  that  through  his  love  he  was  as 
near  to  the  Source  as  were  they.  And  it  was 
suddenly^  as  it  had  been  that  first  night  when 
he  had  stridden  buoyantly  through  the  island ;  for 
he  could  not  tell  which  was  the  secret  of  the 
prince  and  of  these  people  and  which  was  the 
blessedness  of  his  love. 

None  the  less  he  clung  desperately  to  the  last 
words  of  Prince  Tabnit  in  a  vain  effort  to  hold,  to 
make  clear,  to  sophisticate  one  single  phrase,  as  one 
waking  in  the  night  says  over,  in  a  vain  effort  to  fix 
it,  some  phantom  sentence  cried  to  him  in  dreams 
by  a  shadowy  band  destined  to  be  dissolved  when, 
in  bright  day,  he  would  reclaim  it.  He  even 
managed  frantically  to  write  down  a  jumble  of 
words  of  which  he  could  make  nothing,  save  here 
and  there  a  phrase  like  a  touch  of  hands  from 
the  silence:  "...  the  infinite  moment  that  is 
pending  "  .  .  .  "  all  is  become  a  window  where 
had  been  a  wall"  .  .  .  "the  wintry  vision"  .  .  . 
they  were  all  words  that  beckon  without  replying. 
And  all  the  time  it  was  curiously  as  if  the  Some- 
thing Silent  within  St.  George  himself,  that  so 
long  had  striven  to  speak,  were  crying  out  at  last 
in  the  prince's  words — and  he  could  not  under- 


OUT  OF  THE  HALL  OF  KINGS  379 

stand.  Yet  in  spite  of  it  all,  in  spite  of  this 
imminent  satisfying  of  the  strange,  dreadful  curi- 
osity which  possesses  all  mankind,  St.  George, 
even  now,  was  far  less  keen  to  comprehend  than 
he  was  to  burst  through  the  throng  with  Olivia 
in  his  arms,  gain  the  waiting  Aloha  and  sail  into 
the  New  York  harbour  with  the  prize  that  he  had 
won.  "  I  drink  now  to  those  among  you  and 
among  all  men  who  have  won  and  kept  that  which 
is  greater  than  these,"  the  prince  had  said,  and 
St.  George  perfectly  understood.  He  had  but 
to  look  at  Olivia  to  be  triumphantly  willing  that 
the  gods  should  keep  their  secrets  about  time  and 
the  link  between  the  two  worlds  so  long  as  they 
had  given  him  love.  What  should  he  care  about 
time?     He  had  this  hour. 

When  the  prince  ceased  speaking  the  hall  was 
hushed;  but  because  of  the  tempest  in  the  hearts 
of  them  all  the  silence  was  as  if  a  strong  wind, 
sweeping  powerfully  through  a  forest,  were  to 
sway  no  boughs  and  lift  no  leaves,  only  to  strive 
noiselersly  round  one  who  walked  there. 

Prince  Tabnit  wrapped  his  white  mantle  about 
him  and  sat  upon  his  throne.  Spell-stricken, 
they  watched  him,  that  great  multitude,  and 
might  not  turn  away  their  eyes.  Slowly,  imper- 
ceptibly, as  Time  touches  the  familiar,  the 
face  of  the  prince  took  on  its  change — and  one 
could  not  have  told  wherein  the  change  lay,  but 
subtly  as  the  encroachment  of  the  dark,  or  the 


380  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

alchemy  of  the  leaves,  or  the  betrayal  of  cer- 
tain modes  of  death,  the  finger  was  upon  him. 
While  they  watched  he  became  an  effigy,  the 
hideous  face  of  a  fantasy  of  smoke  against  the 
night  sky,  with  a  formless  hand  lifted  from  among 
the  delicate  laces  in  farewell.  There  was  no 
death — the  horror  was  that  there  was  no  death. 
Only  this  curse  of  age  drying  and  withering  at  the 
bones. 

A  long,  whining  cry  came  from  Cassyrus,  who 
covered  his  face  with  his  mantle  and  fled.  The 
spell  being  broken,  by  common  consent  the 
great  hall  was  once  more  in  motion — St.  George 
would  never  forget  that  tide  toward  all  the  great 
portals  and  the  shuddering  backward  glances  at 
the  white  heap  upon  the  beetling  throne.  They 
fled  away  into  the  reassuring  sunlight,  leaving 
the  echoless  hall  deserted,  save  for  that  breathing 
one  upon  the  throne. 

There  was  one  other.  From  somewhere  beside 
the  dais  the  woman  Elissa  crept  and  knelt,  clasp- 
ing the  knees  of  the  man. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

OPEN  SECRETS 

**  Will  you  have  tea?  "  asked  Olivia. 

St.  George  brought  a  deck  cushion  and  tucked 
it  in  the  willow  steamer  chair  and  said  adoringly 
that  he  would  have  tea.  Tea.  In  a  world  where 
the  essentials  and  the  inessentials  are  so  deli- 
ciously  confused,  to  think  that  tea,  with  some  one 
else,  can  be  a  kind  of  Heaven. 

"  Two  lumps?  "  pursued  Olivia. 

"  Three,  please,"  St.  George  directed,  for  the 
pure  joy  of  watching  her  hands.  There  were  no 
tongs. 

"  Aren't  the  rest  going  to  have  some?  "  Olivia 
absently  shared  her  attention,  tinkling  delicately 
about  among  the  tea  things.  "  Doesn't  every  one 
want  a  cup  of  tea?  "  she  inquired  loud  enough  for 
nobody  to  hear.  St.  George,  shifting  his  shoulder 
from  the  rail,  looked  vaguely  over  the  deck  of 
The  Aloha,  sighed  contentedly,  and  smiled  back 
at  her.  No  one  else,  it  appeared,  would  have 
tea;  and  there  was  none  to  regret  it. 

St.  George's  cursory  inspection  had  revealed 
381 


382  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

the  others  variously  absorbed,  though  they  were 
now  all  agreed  in  breathing  easily  since  Barnay, 
interlarding  rational  -speech  with  Irishisms  of 
thanksgiving,  had  announced  five  minutes  before 
that  the  fires  were  up  and  that  in  half  an  hour 
The  Aloha  might  weigh  anchor.  The  only  thing 
now  left  to  desire  was  to  slip  clear  of  the  shadow 
of  the  black  reaches  of  Yaque,  shouldering  the 
blue. 

Meanwhile,  Antoinette  and  Amory  sat  in  the 
comparative  seclusion  of  the  bow  with  their 
backs  to  the  forward  deck,  and  it  was  definitely 
manifest  to  every  one  how  it  would  be  with  them, 
but  every  one  was  simply  glad  and  dismissed  the 
matter  with  that.  Mr.  Frothingham,  in  his 
steamer  chair,  looked  like  a  soft  collapsible  tube 
of  something;  Bennietod,  at  ease  upon  the  uncov- 
ered boards  of  the  deck,  was  circumspectly 
having  cheese  sandwiches  and  wastefully  shoot- 
ing the  ship's  rockets  into  the  red  sunset,  in 
general  celebration ;  and  Rollo,  having  taken  occa- 
sion respectfully  to  submit  to  whomsoever  it 
concerned  that  fact  is  ever  stranger  than  fiction, 
had  gone  below.  Mr.  Otho  Holland  and  Little 
Cawthome — ^but  their  smiles  were  like  different 
names  for  the  same  thing — were  toasting  each 
other  in  something  light  and  dry  and  having  a 
bouquet  which  Mr.  Holland,  who  ought  to  know, 
compared  favourably  with  certain  vintages  of 
I  GOO  B.  C.      In  a  hammock  near  them   reclined 


OPEN  SECRETS  383 

Mrs.  Medora  Hastings,  holding  two  kinds  of 
smelling  salts  which  invariably  revived  her 
simply  by  inducing  the  mental  effort  of  deciding 
which  was  the  better.  Her  hair,  which  was 
exceedingly  pretty,  now  rippled  becomingly 
about  her  flushed  face  and  was  guiltless  of 
side-combs — she  had  lost  them  both  down  a  chasm 
in  that  headlong  flight  from  the  cliff's  summit, 
and  they  irrecoverably  reposed  in  the  bed  of 
some  brook  of  the  Miocene  period.  And  Mrs. 
Hastings,  her  hand  in  that  of  her  brother,  lay 
in  utter  silence,  smiling  up  at  him  in  serene  con- 
tent. 

For  King  Otho  of  Yaque  was  turning  his  back 
upon  his  island  domain  for  ever.  In  that  hurried 
flight  across  the  Eurychorus  among  his  distracted 
subjects,  his  resolution  had  been  taken.  Jarvo 
and  Akko,  the  adieux  to  whom  had  been  every 
one's  sole  regret  in  leaving  the  island,  had  mirac- 
ulously found  their  way  to  the  king  and  his 
party  in  their  flight,  and  were  despatched  to 
Mount  Khalak  for  such  of  their  belongings  as 
they  could  collect,  and  the  island  sovereign  was 
well  content. 

"  Ah  well  now,"  he  had  just  observed,  languidly 
surveying  the  tropical  horizon  through  a  cool 
glass  of  winking  amber  bubbles,  "  one  must  learn 
that  to  touch  is  far  more  delicate  than  to  lift. 
It  is  more  wonderful  to  have  been  the  king  of 
one  moment  than  the  ruler  of  many.     It  is  better 


384  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

to  have  stood  for  an  instant  upon  a  rainbow 
than  to  have  taken  a  morning  walk  through  a 
field  of  clouds.  The  principle  has  long  been 
understood,  but  few  have  had — shall  I  say  the 
courage? — to  practise  it.  Yet  '  courage '  is  a 
term  from-the-shoulder,  and  what  I  require  is  a 
word  of  finger-tips,  over-tones,  ultra-rays — a 
word  for  the  few  who  understand  that  to  leave 
a  thing  is  more  exquisite  than  to  outwear  it. 
It  is  by  its  very  fineness  circumscribed — a 
feminine  virtue.  Women  understand  it  and  keep 
it  secret.  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  pos- 
sessed  the   high  moment,   vanished  against   the 

noon.     Ah,     my    dear    fellow "    he    added, 

lifting  his  glass  to  St.  George's  smile. 

But  Little  Cawthome — all  reality  in  his 
heliotrope  outing  and  duck  and  grey  curls  — 
raised  a  characteristic  plaint. 

"  Oh,  but  I've  done  it,"  he  mournfully  reviewed. 
"  When '11  I  ever  be  in  another  island,  in  front  of 
another  vacated  throne?  Why  didn't  I  move  into 
the  palace,  and  set  up  a  natty,  up-to-date  little 
republic?  I  could  have  worn  a  crown  as  a  matter 
of  taste — what's  the  use  of  a  democracy  if  you 
aren't  free  to  wear  a  crown?  And  what  kind  of 
American  am  I,  anyway,  with  this  undeveloped 
taste  for  acquiring  islands?  If  they  ever  find  this 
out  at  the  polls  my  vote'll  be  challenged.    What  ? ' ' 

"  Aw  whee!  "  said  Bennietod,  intent  upon  a 
Roman  candle,   "  wha'   do  you  care,   Mr.   Caw- 


OPEN  SECRETS  385 

t'ome?  You  don't  hev  to  go  back  fer  to  be  a 
child-slave  to  Chillingwort'.  Me,  I've  gotta  good 
call  to  jump  overboard  now  an'  be  de  sonny  of 
a  sea-horse,  dead  to  rights!  " 

St.   George  looked  at  them  all  affectionately, 
unconscious  that  already  the  experience  of  the 
last  three  days  was  slipping  back  into  the  sheath- 
ing past,  like  a  blade  used.     But  he  was  dawningly 
aware,  as  he  sat  there  at  Olivia's  feet  in  glorious 
content,  that  he  was  looking  at  them  all  with 
new  eyes.     It  was  as  if  he  had  found  new  names 
for  them  all;  and  until  long  afterward  one  does 
not  know  that  these  moments  of  bestowing  new 
names   mark    the    near    breathing    of   the    god. 
The  silence  of  Mrs.    Hastings   and   her   quiet 
devotion   to    her    brother    somehow    gave     St. 
George  a  new  respect  for  her.     Over  by  the  wheel- 
house     something    made     a     strange     noise    of 
crying,  and  St.  George  saw  that  Mr.  Frothingham 
sat  holding  a  weird  little  animal,  like  a  squirrel 
but   for   its   stumpy  tail  and  great  human  eyes, 
which    he    had    unwittingly   stepped    on   among 
the  rocks.      The  little  thing  was  licking  his  hand, 
and    the    old    lawyer's    face    was    softened    and 
glowing    as    he   nursed    it   and    coaxed    it   with 
crumbs.     As   he   looked,   St.  George  warmed  to 
them  all  in  new  fellowship  and,  too,  in  swift  self- 
reproach;  for  in  what  had  seemed  to  him  but 
"  broad  lines  and  comic  masks  "  he  suddenly  saw 
the  authority  and  reality  of  homely  hearts.     The 


386  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

better  and  more  intimate  names  for  everything 
which  seemed  now  within  his  grasp  were  more 
important  than  Yaque  itself.  He  remembered, 
with  a  thrill,  how  his  mother  had  been  wont  to 
tell  him  that  a  man  must  walk  through  some  sort 
of  fairy-land,  whether  of  imagination  or  of  the 
heart,  before  he  can  put  much  in  or  take  much 
from  the  market-place.  And  lo !  this  fairy-land  of 
his  finding  had  proved — must  it  not  always 
prove? — the  essence  of  all  Reality. 

His  eyes  went  to  Olivia's  face  in  a  flash  of  imder- 
standing  and  belief. 

"  Don't  you  see?  "  he  said,  quite  as  if  they 
two  had  been  talking  what  he  had  thought. 

She  waited,  smiling  a  little,  thrilled  by  his 
certainty  of  her  sympathy. 

"  None  of  this  happened  really,  "  triumphantly 
explained  St.  George,  "  I  met  you  at  the  Boris, 
did  I  not?  Therefore,  I  think  that  since  then 
you  have  graciously  let  me  see  you  for  the  proper 
length  of  time,  and  at  last  we've  fallen  in  love 
just  as  every  one  else  does.  And  true  lovers 
always  do  have  trouble,  do  they  not?  So  then, 
Yaque  has  been  the  usual  trouble  and  happi- 
ness, and  here  we  are" — engaged." 

"I'm  not  engaged,"  Olivia  protested  serenely, 
"  but  I  see  what  you  mean.  No,  none  of  it  hap- 
pened," she  gravely  agreed.  "  It  couldn't,  you 
know.     Anybody  will  tell  you  that." 

In  her  eyes  was  the  sparkle  of  understanding 


OPEN  SECRETS  387 

which  made  St.  George  love  her  more  every  time 
that  it  appeared.  He  noted  the  white  cloth 
frock,  and  the  coat  of  hunting  pink  thrown  across 
her  chair,  and  he  remembered  that  in  the  infinites- 
imal time  that  he  had  waited  for  her  outside 
the  Palace  of  the  Litany,  she  must  have  exchanged 
for  these  the  coronation  robe  and  jewels  of  Queen 
Mitygen.  St.  George  liked  that  swift  practicality 
in  the  race  of  faery,  though  he  was  completely 
indifferent  to  Mrs.  Hastings'  and  Antoinette's 
claims  to  it;  and  he  wondered  if  he  were  to  love 
Olivia  more  for  everything  that  she  did,  how 
he  could  possibly  live  long  enough  to  tell  her. 
When  one  has  been  to  Yaque  the  simplest  gifts 
and  graces  resolve  themselves  into  this  question. 
The  Aloha  gently  freed  herself  from  the  shallow 
green  pocket  where  she  had  lain  through  three 
eventful  days,  and  slipped  out  toward  the  waste 
of  water  bound  by  the  flaunting  autumn  of  the 
west.  An  island  wind,  fragrant  of  bark  and  secret 
berries,  blew  in  puffs  from  the  steep.  A  gull 
swooped  to  her  nest  in  a  cranny  of  the  basalt. 
From  below  a  servant  came  on  deck,  his  broad 
American  face  smiling  over  a  tray  of  glasses 
and  decanters  and  tinkling  ice.  It  was  all  very 
tranquil  and  public  and  almost  commonplace — 
just  the  high  tropic  seas  at  the  moment  of  their 
unrestrained  sundown,  and  the  odour  of  tea- 
cakes  about  the  pleasantly-littered  deck.  And 
for  the  moment,   held   by  a   common    thought, 


388  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

every  one  kept  silent.  Now  that  The  Aloha  was 
really  moving  toward  home,  the  affair  seemed 
suddenly  such  a  gigantic  impossibility  that  every 
one  resented  every  one  else's  knowing  what  a 
trick  had  been  played.  It  was  as  if  the  curtain 
had  just  fallen  and  the  lights  of  the  auditorium 
had  flashed  up  after  the  third  act,  and  they 
had  all  caught  one  another  breathless  or  in 
tears,  pretending  that  the  tragedy  had  really 
happened. 

"  Promise  me  something,"  begged  St.  George 
softly,  in  sudden  alarm,  bom  of  this  inevitable 
aspect;  "  promise  me  that  when  we  get  to  New 
York  you  are  not  going  to  forget  all  about  Yaque — 
and  me — and  believe  that  none  of  us  ever  hap- 
pened. " 

Olivia  looked  toward  the  serene  mystery  of  the 
distance. 

"  New  York,"  she  said  only,  "  think  of  seeing 
you  in  New  York — now." 

"  Was  I  of  more  account  in  Yaque?  "  demanded 
St.  George  anxiously. 

"  Sometimes,"  said  Olivia  adorably,  "  I  shall 
tell  you  that  you  were.  But  that  will  be  only 
because  I  shall  have  an  idea  that  in  Yaque  you 
loved  me  more." 

"  Ah,  very  well  then.  And  sometimes,"  said 
St.  George  contentedly,  "  when  we  are  at  dinner 
I  shall  look  down  the  table  at  you  sitting  beside 
some  one  who  is  expounding  some  baneful  literary 


OPEN  SECRETS  389 

theory,  and  I  shall  think;  What  do  I  care? 
He  doesn't  know  that  she  is  really  the  Princess  of 
Far- Away.     But  I  do.  " 

"  And  he  won't  know  anything  about  our  motor 
ride,  alone,  the  night  that  I  was  kidnapped, 
either — the  literary-theory  person,"  Olivia  tran- 
quilly took  away  his  breath  by  observing. 

St.  George  looked  up  at  her  quickly  and, 
secretly,  Olivia  thought  that  if  he  had  been 
attractive  when  he  was  courageous  he  was  doubly 
so  with  the  present  adorably  abashed  look  in 
his  eyes. 

"  When — alone?  "  St.  George  asked  uncon- 
vincingly. 

She  laughed  a  little,  looking  down  at  him  in  a 
reproof  that  was  all  approbation,  and  to  be 
reproved  like  that  is  the  divinest  praise. 

"  How  did  you  know?  "  protested  St.  George 
in  fine  indignation.  "  Besides,"  he  explained, 
"  I  haven't  an  idea  what  you  mean." 

"  I  guessed  about  that  ride,"  she  went  on, 
**  the  night  before  last,  when  you  were  walking 
up  and  down  outside  my  window.  I  don't  know 
what  made  me — and  I  think  it  was  very  forward 
of  me.  Do  you  want  to  know  something?  "  she 
demanded,  looking  away. 

"  More  than  anything,"  declared  St.  George. 
"  What?  " 

"  I  think—"  Olivia  said  slowly,  "  that  it 
began — then — ^just  when  I  first  thought  how  won- 


890  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

derful  that  ride  would  have  been.  Except — 
that  it  had  begun  a  great  while  before,"  she 
ended  suddenly. 

And  at  these  enigmatic  words  St.  George  sent 
a  quick  look  over  the  forward  deck.  It  was  of 
no  use.     Mr.  Frothingham  was  well  within  range. 

*'  Heavens,  good  heavens,  how  happy  I  am," 
said  St.  George  instead. 

"And  then,"  Olivia  went  on  presently,  "some- 
times when  there  are  a  lot  of  people  about — 
literary-theory  persons  and  all — I  shall  look 
across  at  you,  differently,  and  that  will  mean 
that  you  are  to  remember  the  exact  minute  when 
you  looked  in  the  window  up  at  the  palace,  on 
the  mountain,  and  I  saw  you.     Won't  it?  " 

"  It  will,"  said  St.  George  fervently.  "  Don't 
try  to  persuade  me  that  there  wasn't  any  such 
mountain,"  he  challenged  her.  "  I  suppose," 
he  added  in  wonder,  "  that  lovers  have  been 
having  these  secret  signs  time  out  of  mind — 
and  we  never  knew." 

Olivia  drew  a  little  breath  of  content. 

"  Bless  everybody,"  she  said. 

So  they  made  invasion  of  that  pure,  dim 
world  before  them;  and  the  serene  mystery  of 
the  distance  came  like  a  thought,  drawn  from  a 
state  remote  and  immortal,  to  clasp  the  hand  of 
There  in  the  hand  of  Here. 

**  And  then  sometimes,"  St.  George  went  on, 
his  exultation  proving  greater  than  his  discretion, 


OPEN  SECRETS  391 

"  we'll    take    the    yacht    and     pretend     we're 
going  back " 

He  stopped  abruptly  with  a  quick  indrawn 
breath  and  the  hope  that  she  had  not  noticed. 
He  was,  by  several  seconds,  too  late. 

"  Whose  yacht  is  it?  "  Olivia  asked  promptly. 
**  I  wondered." 

St.  George  had  dreaded  the  question.  Some- 
way, now  that  it  was  all  over  and  the  prize  was 
his,  he  was  ashamed  that  he  had  not  won  it  more 
fairly  and  humiliated  that  he  was  not  what  she 
believed  him,  a  pillar  of  the  Evening  Sentinel. 
But  Amory  had  miraculously  heard  and  ttumed 
himself  about. 

"  It's  his,"  he  said  briefly,  "  I  may  as  well 
confess  to  you,  Miss  Holland,"  he  enlarged  some- 
what, **  he's  a  great  cheat.  The  Aloha  is  his, 
and  so  am  I,  busy  body  and  idle  soul,  for  using 
up  his  yacht  and  his  time  on  a  newspaper  story. 
You  were  the  *  story,'  you  know." 

"  But,"  said  Olivia  in  bewilderment,  "  I  don't 
understand.     Surely " 

"  Nothing  whatever  is  sure,  Miss  Holland," 
Amory  sadly  assured  her,  but  his  eyes  were 
smiling  behind  his  pince-nez.  "  You  would  think 
one  might  be  sure  of  him.  But  it  isn't  so.  Me, 
you  may  depend  upon  me,"  he  impressed  it 
lightly.  "I'm  what  I  say  I  am — a  poor  beggar 
of  a  newspaper  man,  about  to  be  held  to  account 
by   one    Chilllngworth   for   this    whole   millenial 


392  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

occurrence,  and  sent  off  to  a  political  convention 
to  steady  me,  unless  I'm  fired.  But  St.  George, 
he's  a  gay  dilettante." 

Then  Amory  resumed  a  better  topic  of  his  own; 
and  Olivia,  when  she  understood,  looked  down 
at  her  lover  as  miserably  as  one  is  able  when 
one  is  perfectly  happy. 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  "  and  up  there — in  the  palace 
to-day — I  did  think  for  a  minute  that  perhaps 
you  wanted  me  to  marry  the  prince  so  that — 
they  could " 

One  could  smile  now  at  the  enormity  of  that. 

"  So  that  I  could  put  it  in  the  paper?  he  said. 
"  But,  you  see,  I  never  could  put  it  in  any  paper, 
even  if  I  didn't  love  you.  Who  would  believe 
me?  A  thousand  years  from  now — maybe  less — 
the  Evening  Sentinel,  if  it  is  still  in  existence,  can 
publish  the  story,  perhaps.  Until  then  I'm 
afraid  they'll  have  to  confine  themselves  to  the 
doings  of  the  precincts." 

Olivia  waived  the  whole  matter  for  one  of 
vaster  importance. 

"  Then  why  did  you  come  to  Yaque?  "  she 
demanded. 

Mr.  Frothingham  had  left  his  place  by  the 
wheel-house  and  wandered  forward.  The  steamer 
chair  had  a  back  that  was  both  broad  and  high, 
and  one  sitting  in  its  shadow  was  hermetically 
veiled  from  the  rest  of  the  deck.  So  St.  George 
bent  forward,  and  told  her. 


OPExN  SECRETS  393 

After  that  they  sat  in  silence,  and  together 
they  looked  back  toward  the  island  with  its  black 
rocks  smitten  to  momentary  gold  by  a  last 
javelin  of  light.  There  it  lay — ^the  land  locking 
away  as  realities  all  the  fairy-land  of  specula- 
tion, the  land  of  the  miracles  of  natural  law. 
They  had  walked  there,  and  had  glimpsed  the 
shadowy  threshold  of  the  Morning.  Suppose, 
St.  George  thought,  that  instead  of  King  Otho, 
with  his  delicate  sense  of  the  merely  visible,  a 
great  man  had  chanced  to  be  made  sovereign  of 
Yaque?  And  instead  of  Mr.  Frothingham,  slave 
to  the  contestable,  and  Little  Cawthome  in 
bondage  to  humour,  and  Amory  and  himself 
swept  off  their  feet  by  a  heavenly  romance, 
suppose  a  party  of  savants  and  economists 
had  arrived  in  Yaque,  with  a  poet  or  two  to 
bring  away  the  fire — what  then?  St.  George 
lost  the  doubt  in  the  noon  of  his  own  certainty. 
There  could  be  no  greater  good,  he  chanted  to 
the  god  who  had  breathed  upon  him,  than  this 
that  he  and  Amory  shared  now  with  the  wise  and 
simple  world,  the  world  of  the  resonant  new 
names.  He  even  doubted  that,  save  in  degree, 
there  could  be  a  purer  talisman  than  the  spirit 
that  inextinguishably  shone  in  the  face  of  the 
childlike  old  lawyer  as  the  strange  little  animal 
nestled  in  his  coat  and  licked  his  hand.  And 
these  were  open  secrets.  Open  secrets  of  the 
ultimate  attainment. 


394  ROMANCE  ISLAND 

They  watched  the  land  dissolving  in  the  dark- 
ness like  a  pearl  in  wine  of  night.  But  at  last, 
when  momentarily  they  had  turned  happy  eyes 
to  each  other's  faces,  they  looked  again  and 
found  that  the  dusk,  taking  ancient  citadels  with 
soundless  tread,  had  received  the  island.  And 
where  on  the  brow  of  the  mountain  had  sprung 
the  white  pillars  of  the  king's  palace  glittered 
only  the  early  stars. 

"  Crown  jewels,"  said  Olivia  softly,  "  for  every- 
body's head." 


Date  Due 

813.5  G152R  h- 561321 


